#Time to yeet this into the void and never look back
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Waterfall - Guts/Reader
Masterlist
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 7.9k
Warnings: Smut, Fluff, A sprinkle of angst, AFAB Reader, Porn with a little bit of Plot, Oral Sex, Fingering, P in V Sex, Edging, Aftercare (Let me know if I'm missing any)
Summary:
Months after the eclipse, you're still grappling with it all. But at least you're not alone. You might as well get railed to ease the burden of living.
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“I’m ok,” you repeat, smiling more easily now. His brows furrow and he rests his forehead against yours.
“I could have lost you,” he whispers, his eyes sheen in the light. You click your tongue and pinch his cheek. Guts scowls but doesn’t move away.
“But you didn’t. I’m right here. I’m standing right in front of you, so why do you keep looking back?” There’s a slight tremor in your tone. You unclench your fists, pushing him back to create some distance. There’s a brief flash of emotion across his face, but it dissipates with the heat simmering your blood. “I’m right here,” you whisper against the roar of the waterfall.
Note:
Hello! I know I disappeared for like, almost a year. No freak accidents or anything of the like. Life has just been busy and I have poor time management. But I missed writing, even though it did not miss me ;-; The writing gods did not bless me with inspiration for a long while, not to mention I have a stubborn habit of only having one wip at a time (I have multiple ideas, but I only work on one fic at a time).
In any case, I hope this brings joy to somebody. I am frankly tired from editing this monstrosity so I'll leave you to enjoy :)
Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o
Note: This does take place in the same universe as Love Triangle but this can be read as a stand-alone.
Water cascades down your body, beating into your skin. The temperature was freezing earlier, but now it’s numbed into a slight chill. You stare at the rock wall, trailing along the cracks and crevices that crater the surface. Sprinkles of minerals sparkle throughout, reflecting rainbows when the moonlight hits them just right.
The cold bite of metal stings into your shoulder, and you jerk away from the contact. Whirling around, you come face to face with Guts. He stares at his hand, clenching it into a fist before it drops to his side.
“You’re gonna freeze to death,” he says. You notice the gray towel peeking out behind his arm.
You drag your fingers through your hair, shaking off the water droplets. A few stray drops trickle down your chin, and Guts watches them drip along your collarbone. “I’ll be done soon,” you say. The phantom blood still sticks to your raw skin, the scent of iron lingering while your body becomes a collage of self-inflicted wounds. You scrubbed and scrubbed, but it’s not enough. Not even an entire ocean can wash away the atrocities you witnessed. But maybe that’s the burden of surviving the eclipse, for living when you were marked for death.
“You looked done 20 minutes ago. Skin’s gonna start peeling if you don’t stop,” he says. You look away from Guts and pick at the dead skin underneath your nails, grimacing at your wrinkled fingertips.
“I don’t feel done. I don’t think I ever will,” you admit in a hushed whisper. Guts doesn’t say anything, offering his hand for you to take. Accepting the gesture, you’re tugged into his chest. The soft towel gently pats your skin dry and tousles your wet hair. He pauses, eyes scanning your face. “I’m okay, as okay as one can be in our situation.” Your lips twitch into a small smile, but this seems to only frustrate him more.
Guts growls, his jaw clenched shut. “I’ll kill him.” There’s no room for questioning who ‘he’ is. You bring a hand up to cup his cheek, and his posture relaxes. Your thumb traces the bags underneath his eyes.
“I’m ok,” you repeat, smiling more easily now. His brows furrow and he rests his forehead against yours.
“I could have lost you,” he whispers, his eyes sheen in the light. You click your tongue and pinch his cheek. Guts scowls but doesn’t move away.
“But you didn’t. I’m right here. I’m standing right in front of you, so why do you keep looking back?” There’s a slight tremor in your tone. You unclench your fists, pushing him back to create some distance. There’s a brief flash of emotion across his face, but it dissipates with the heat simmering your blood. “I’m right here,” you whisper against the roar of the waterfall.
“I’m not…. ”He sighs and finally meets your gaze. “I’m not angry at you.” Guts fiddles with the towel in his hand. “I wasn’t strong enough to save you.” His touch drifts towards the bandages wrapping his torso.
You walk up to Guts, enveloping him in a hug. “Can we pretend for once that everything is ok? That spirits aren’t hunting us, and a bunch of Apostles won’t fuck up the world?” When he doesn’t respond, you look to see him staring at the ceiling. “Guts?”
“Clothes,” he stutters. “You’re not wearin’ any.” You look down at your naked body pressed against his.
“You weren’t shy earlier when you were drying me.” Leaning in further has the desired effect when you feel a bulge against your lower abdomen. “Looks like someone has no complaints,” you say with a smirk.
Guts groans and shudders when you roll your hips. He wraps an arm around your waist, palm splayed against the curve of your back. His hand slides to squeeze your ass, and he whispers into your ear, “Don’t provoke me.” It’s a similar tone to when he shouts orders on the battlefield. You take it as an invitation to tease him further. He notices the glint in your eyes and clicks his tongue. “Brat.”
You know he’s soft beneath that tough exterior. You can see it in how he brings you something warm to drink when it’s cold, how his hands naturally gravitate to your waist or the small of your back. Guts doesn’t like saying it, but you just know. Currently, he’s scolding you for being in the water too long. You won’t point it out, but he grabbed the softest towel to dry you.
“I love you,” you say. His hands freeze, and the lines on his face soften.
Guts sighs, “How can you be so lovely and infuriating at the same time?” He cups your cheek but quickly recoils upon noticing the gleam of metal contrasting against your skin.
You grab his wrist and press a kiss onto the palm of his prosthetic hand. “It’s one of my many talents,” you reply, pressing another kiss to his lips to prevent him from biting them.
“It’s strange,” Guts mumbles. Your other hand slides down his chest, trailing along his abs to the waistline of his pants. His breath hitches, and he nips your earlobe in retaliation. “Sometimes I still feel it when you touch that hand,” he says.
“Do you feel this?” You trace the outline of his growing erection, eventually rubbing your hand against the bulge in his trousers. He bucks his hips into your touch, and a low groan escapes from his lips. “Or what about this?” Slipping your hand beneath the fabric, you’re surprised by the lack of an additional layer. “Expecting something, are we?” You grin impishly at him, inching your fingers closer to his cock. Your skin is still cold from the water, and Guts is blazing beneath your touch.
“Not at”—you firmly grip his shaft and begin stroking languidly—”all,” he forces through gritted teeth. You can almost hear the creak of his jaw as it strains under pressure.
“So you weren’t expecting to find me still naked at the waterfall and indulge in some intimate acts?” You stop stroking to tease the head of his cock, running your thumb over the frenulum. Thick precum coats your hand, and you reluctantly pull away, but only to see the frustration grow on Guts’s face. “Then I guess there’s no need for me to continue.” You wade through the pool and use the waterfall to rinse your hand.
As you’re flicking off water droplets, a broad chest presses against your back, and thick arms wrap around your waist. The sudden force pushes you into the rock wall, your hands flying up out of instinct to lessen the impact. You turn your head to see Guts, completely bare, his clothes lying in a forgotten heap by the pool. That explains what’s twitching against your lower back. You grind slow, lazy circles against his stiff cock, grinning at how he trembles with the slightest rock of your hips.
“Stop,” he pleads, squeezing his arms to constrain your movements. It’s cute; he’s pretending to stop you, but his hold is too lax.
You hum and redirect one of his hands to your breasts, sighing at the contact. “If you really wanted me to stop, you wouldn’t be enthusiastically rutting like a dog in heat,” you say. As if to prove your point, a low whine pitches in the back of his throat when you press against him to hinder his movements.
“So maybe I don’t want to stop,” he admits. “Maybe I want to rough you up against the wall until you can’t walk the next day.” The imagery sends a gush of slickness between your thighs, and you rub them together to ease the ache.
“Then why don’t you?” You spin around to face him and hook one leg around his thigh, tugging his hips closer. The sharp exhale followed by a groan is music to your ears. Your arms drape over his shoulders, sinking your nails into his broad back. You have him trapped. Or is it the other way around? He could effortlessly pry you off, but his dark eyes hold no intention of letting you go. “I don’t break easily, you know,” you whisper against his lips, his breath fanning your face.
Guts bites his lips, fingers bruising your hips, marks he’ll kiss in the morning when you’re bedridden. “I—“
You cut him off, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “Let me make myself clear, Guts. I want you to fuck me.” His breath hitches, the click of his throat silenced by the rush of water. “Fuck me so damn hard I don’t remember a thing about this shitty world we live in.” You want to spend at least an hour free from the waking nightmare that plagues your daily life. Maybe this isn’t the best way, but it is the most pleasant.
You know you’ll go to bed and dream of crimson skies and shrill screams. A world where the tang of metal never leaves your mouth. Where rot and decay fester in your lungs, smothering you alongside the scent of burning flesh. And then you’ll wake up, touch your face to feel the wet streaks streaming down your cheeks. Guts will be sleeping beside you, faring no better in his dreams, relaxing only when you hold his hand and lay on his chest.
Yeah, the world is fucked up, and so is your mental state. You might as well get railed to ease the burden of living.
But enough about later. What’s happening right now is important. And what’s happening right now is Guts pleading with his eyes to please you. He has one arm hooked underneath your leg to support it, the other still wrapped around your waist, hand dipping to cup your ass. He grinds his erection against your clit, and you bite your lip to hold back a moan.
Guts kisses behind your ear, sucking on the spot. Your blood thrums through your veins, buzzing with electricity. “Guess the waterfall will be useful,” he says.
“How so?” you hum, closing your eyes as he trails his lips along your jawline. You tilt your head back, and he peppers your exposed throat with kisses, playfully nipping but careful to avoid breaking the skin. A tingle shoots up from the base of your spine when his teeth scrape over your pulse, tongue laving over your racing heartbeat.
“Others won’t hear any of your screams.” He hoists you up, and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist. “I get to have you all to myself.” Your back thuds against the wall, the rough rock leaving a light sting on your skin. There’s a hunger in his eyes that threatens to devour you. He always gets that look when he’s determined to spoil you rotten.
You ignore the throbbing heat in your core, focusing on the slanted curve of his lips. “Ooh, confident are we?” you tease, dragging your nails across his back, grinning at the shudder it elicits.
“I’ve always been skillful with my hands,” he says, lowering your feet. At the shallow end of the pool, water laps at your knees. The chill heightens the burn of your skin, and the slickness between your thighs becomes impossible to ignore. Guts sinks down, kneeling in front of you, hands parting your legs gently. He tuts and gazes at you with mock scorn. “You cleaned up earlier, but now you’ve made a mess again.”
“And whose fault is that?” you reply, inhaling sharply when his fingers rub circles into your thighs.
He hums and plants a kiss on your kneecap, lips skirting up closer to the source of your dripping cunt. “A man should always take responsibility for his actions.” His warm breath is like a spark of flint on kindling. It starts a blazing heat that crawls up and pools in your stomach, spreading throughout your veins until your entire body is engulfed in flames.
A thin veil of fog blankets your mind. For a second, you almost forget how to breathe. He looks up at you from between your legs, tongue swiping across his bottom lip. He looks eager to taste you; it causes you to clench tightly, gripping around nothing but air. And you want him to fill you up, to replace the void the eclipse left behind after it tore almost everything from you.
Your body seizes up. A cool jet of air against your clit catches you off guard. Guts looks you in the eyes, trapping you in their dark depths. “If—at any time—you want me to stop, tell me,” he commands. His lips are pressed into a thin line, and he holds your gaze. He won’t continue unless you agree.
You wrack your brain together, drumming your fingers on the wall behind you to form a coherent thought. But all you can focus on is his warm breath against your skin, the burning ache in your core that beckons for his attention.
Guts sighs, drinking in your scent deeply. He licks his lips, and his fingers dig into your flesh. “I don’t want this to be like the other times,” he admits.
You stare at him quietly, observing the clarity in his eyes. This isn’t the first time you’ve sought each other’s company. After all, who better to seek comfort from than someone who’s been through the same traumatizing event? Overcome with grief and guilt, you found solace in the warmth of his body and vice versa. It wasn’t always sexual, but sometimes you crave the shelter of having no other thoughts besides pleasure. To know nothing else but pure bliss for a brief respite.
Guts mistakes your silence for rejection. “Let me cherish you,” he pleads. “Let me worship you the way you deserve.” And you recall dark nights of clashing teeth and tongues, scratches and bruises made just to feel something—anything. There’s still a tinge of purple around his collarbone, the imprint of your teeth long faded. The harsh lines on his face are nonexistent. His touch is light, revering.
You don’t think you’ve ever felt this important. Guts doesn’t treat you like glass. He looks like he would raze the entire world in flames for you, and all you need to do is ask. Cupping his chin in one hand, you stare into his earnest eyes. Guts pulls away to plant kisses along your knuckles. The corners of his mouth curl up at your sigh when he nips at your fingertips. It’s hard to describe this feeling. All the tension and worry in your body building up like a brick wall suddenly crumbles to dust.
And how can you say no when he looks so eager to please—to love you? A brief taste of copper coats your tongue, and you ignore the phantom claws dragging down your lower abdomen. You focus instead on Guts’s soft touches, the steady gurgle of water, and the moonlight filtering through the pockets of sky in the ceiling.
You are safe.
“Ok,” you whisper. Slowly, you spread your legs apart and cool your burning cheeks with the back of your hand. “Please touch me.”
Guts plants a kiss on your inner thigh, trailing upwards. He wants to drag this out and tease you until the anticipation has you dripping with need. With one calloused hand resting on your pubic mound, he licks a long stripe through your folds, groaning at your intoxicating taste. A jolt of pleasure crawls up your back before slamming into your core.
Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when he eats you out messily. Obscene slurps and groans bounce off the rock walls. Guts slings one of your legs over his shoulder and focuses on your clit, inserting two fingers into your dripping cunt. Spots of light dance across your vision when he crooks his fingers to stroke your sweet spot. It’s a wonder how you’re still standing.
Just as the band in your stomach goes taut, Guts pulls away. The pleasure building in your body drops and transforms into a sharp ache that has your body screaming for release.
“Your legs are trembling,” Guts points out.
You press harder against the wall and try to remember how to stand. “No, I’m not,” you say.
Guts hums and plants a kiss on your clit, the kind that fills your veins with lava and sets off the butterflies in your stomach. “You can be so damn stubborn.” He stands and carries you with ease, wading towards the edge.
“What are you doing?” you ask.
“Some underwater training,” Guts replies, refusing to elaborate further. He stops and sets you on the ground. The water reaches just below your chest in this position; the sudden coldness shocks your skin. It makes you hyper-aware of your sensitivity.
Gus parts your legs, and you lean back slightly, using your arms to support yourself from behind. His touch radiates familiarity, hands caressing all the spots that work you up. You lick your lips and part then to ask another question. “Wha—“
“Always wanted to see how long I could hold my breath,” Guts cuts you off, petting your clit gently. He gazes at you through hooded lids, a grin ghosting his lips. “They say the average is 3-5 minutes. Let’s set a new record.” His words send tingles throughout your body, and you clench at the thought.
“What do you mean?” you ask, distracted by the circles he’s drawing with his thumb. If you time it just right, you can buck your hips and have him stroke your swollen clit.
“Don’t worry about it.” And the next thing you know, his head’s underwater and his tongue is prodding at your entrance. Your fingers immediately thread his hair, tugging his scalp when his nose brushes against your clit.
The water and walls blur into blobs of colour, your heartbeat thundering in your eardrums. The throbbing between your thighs quickens, and that band in your stomach threatens to snap and give you whiplash. Guts brings a hand up close to your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut, dangling on the precipice of an orgasm.
He surfaces from the water. His shit-eating grin only widens when you vocalize your discontentment. A flick to your clit shortcircuits your brain with a jolt of pleasure, eliciting a scream from your lips. One of your hands slips, and suddenly the world is careening backwards—or is it forwards?
Strong arms wrap around your body, and suddenly you’re face to face with Guts instead of the ceiling. Water splashes and drenches both of you in the crossfire. You try to stand up, but Guts digs his fingers into your hips. Something warm brushes against your bare cunt.
This new position has you straddling Guts. Even the most minuscule movements cause some degree of friction. The look in his eyes tells you that he’s barely restraining himself. Since his hands hold your hips in place, you lean forward and attack his neck with bites and hickeys. Guts hisses and immediately stands up, hoisting you with him.
“Let’s move to land. Wouldn’t want you to drown,” he rasps, shuddering when you lick over his racing pulse.
“I can think of other ways to leave me breathless,” you whisper, lifting your head and baring your neck. The perfect place for his hands to wrap around.
“Another time. Right now, I want you to sit on my face,” he says, setting you on the ground. Your cunt throbs in response, and you crawl—a little too eagerly—into position. You stop mere centimetres from his face, hovering in your hesitation. Inklings of doubt blot your thoughts. What if you’re too heavy? What if you smother— “Too long,” he grunts, interrupting your inner monologue. Guts grips your thighs and pulls you down, wasting no time ravaging you with his tongue,
You suck in a breath, hips rocking at a steady rhythm. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head when his mouth latches around your clit and sucks greedily. He pulls away with a pop, the bottom half of his face glistening with your arousal. He licks his lips and groans, “Fuck, you taste amazing.”
“Less talking, more licking,” you say.
“What, no please?”
You don’t humour him with a response and take matters into your own hands. You lift your hips and grind against the ridge of his nose.
Guts swears under his breath, inhaling your intoxicating scent. “What am I going to do with you?” he groans.
You huff in frustration at the loss of stimulation. “What you should have done ages ago. Now shut up before I make you.”
Guts doesn’t move. “Not until you say please,” he says.
“You’re such a fucking tease,” you moan, wriggling your hips to no avail since his hands have barred you from moving any lower.
“I just want to hear you beg for it.” He spreads your lips and admires how wet you are. When you remain silent, he massages the area surrounding your clit. “No? Not gonna cave in?”
You narrow your eyes and scrape your nails against his broad chest. “Fuck, you.” It comes out through gritted teeth.
Guts chuckles. A low sound filled with mirth. “Oh, love. You wish.” His thumb probes your entrance, pulling out to slide along your slit. “I do have to praise you for holding out this long. It must feel unbearable.” And it does. Your skin is about to burst at the seams as the pleasure threatens to drive you mad. Never given enough to bring you over the edge, but just enough to stimulate the ache in your core—the desire to be filled.
“Not. At. All.”
Guts clucks his tongue, drawing circles around your swollen clit. “Liar.” He slowly pushes a finger into your cunt, adding another when he feels how wet you are. It doesn’t take long before the squelches reach your burning ears. His fingers curl and stroke that sensitive area on your walls. The pace is agonizingly slow, and it only deepens the ache. You bite down on your bottom lip, almost hard enough to draw blood.
Your body trembles when he plants a kiss on your clit. Ah, to hell with playing hard to get. You might die if he doesn’t give you an orgasm right now.
“Guts?” you groan, clenching when he pets your clit in response.
“Yes, my love?” He sounds so smug. You don’t even need to look to see the smirk on his face.
“…Please,” you whisper, hissing when he stops his ministrations.
“Didn’t catch what you said. Gonna need you to repeat that.” He slowly resumes his movements, rubbing his fingertips against your walls.
You grunt and try to focus, blinking to clear the fog in your brain. “Please. Fuck. Me.” You punctuate each word with a thrust of your hips. Guts’s fingers immediately retract, and you whine at the loss, only to throw your head back when he eats you out like a man starved.
His hands hold you in place, only allowing enough freedom to ride his face, which you do—greedily. He runs the flat of his tongue across your slit. Every so often he comments on how good you taste, normally ending with how he can never get enough. You don’t know. You don’t really care. He’s drawing patterns on your clit, each stroke bringing you closer to climax.
And you’re so close. You can almost feel it. Guts must sense it, too, because he focuses on your clit, hands locking you snugly against his face. With his unrelenting tongue, you cum with a scream. Your entire body buzzes with electricity, clit throbbing in time with your clenches. Guts doesn’t stop, and soon the pleasure borders on pain. It’s too much. You jerk away, but he keeps you trapped in his hold.
You can’t think anymore. You can only incoherently babble for him to let you go. And then it creeps up on you. The aftershocks of your last orgasm, combined with the continued stimulation, tighten that band in your stomach again. Tears sting the corner of your eyes, blurring your vision. It’s too much. You want it to stop.
But it feels so fucking good.
Guts swaps his tongue for his fingers, filling you up once more. Your back arches when he brushes over your g-spot. You mewl and beg him to do it again.
“One more time. Cum for me one more time,” he orders. And how can you say no when he uses that tone? Guts pays special attention to your previous request, fingers curling with practiced precision. “I want even the gods to hear you scream my name.”
He doesn’t need to convince you. Liquid heat pools in your stomach, bubbling like a pot about to boil over. His name is the first sound to leave your lips when you come undone. Guts is gentler this time; he draws out your orgasm slowly, careful not to overstimulate you. Your vision burns with tears as your body curls up before sagging bonelessly.
You heave a sigh and crawl to the side, shuddering when the cold air hits your sensitive skin With a content smile, you stare at Guts in a daze, fuzzy warmth blanketing your mind.
“Good?” he asks.
“Mhmm.” Your eyes drift to his erection; it twitches under your attention. Suddenly you’re aware of the heady scent of musk in the air. Licking your lips, you look back at Guts. He doesn’t say anything, but his pupils are blown. “Can I?” You inch closer to him, and he nods. You spread the precum leaking from the tip with your thumb. On an impulse, you lick the remainder off your finger, smirking when you hear his sharp intake of breath.
A bitter saltiness greets your tastebuds, but it’s milder than you anticipated. You well up some saliva in your mouth and use it to lubricate your hand to begin stroking. Slow, firm pumps have him twitching against your palm.
“Faster, please,” he groans, jerking his hips upwards to match your strokes.
“Ooh, so you do know how to be polite,” you say as you tighten your grip and increase the pace. Guts’s chest rises and falls faster than before.
His face distorts in a mixture of disbelief and pleasure. “Shut the fuck up,” he grunts, nose scrunching.
You laugh and rub his thighs soothingly. “Just this once,” and you take as much of his length into your mouth as you can manage. Running your tongue across the underside of his cock, you widen your jaw to avoid scraping him with your teeth. Anything you can’t fit gets stroked by your hands. Glancing up, you notice him watching you with a tenderness that’s been rare as of late.
He’s been worrying and training almost to the point of obsession. You want to ease that ache in his chest and have him forget momentarily about all you’ve gone through together. Although, judging from how his eyes are starting to glaze over, your objective doesn’t seem that far away.
It started out small, but now the walls echo with his moans and breathy whines. Each sound is like a lightning bolt between your thighs, burning you with strikes of pleasure. You bring a hand down to play with your clit, hoping to ease the ache.
His cock pulsates in your mouth. His entire body starts shuddering, and you know he’s close. So you slow to a halt and chortle at his frustration. The look he gives you could wither the low-level spirits that hang around. Taking a breath, you inch slowly down to take more of his cock, chest brimming with pride at how his body immediately tenses.
“You’re going to kill me here, my love,” he groans, hips stuttering between pulling away and pushing further in.
You slide your mouth off his cock and lick your lips, massaging his balls with your hand. “I want to milk as much of your cum as I can and drink it all,” you say, rubbing your thumb against the tip. You feel a twitch against your fingers and smirk. “Seems like you’re on board with my plan.”
One of his large, warm hands is placed against your head, stroking your hair. You close your eyes and lean into his touch. “Not the only place I’d like to fill you up,” he says, and you can hear the grin in his tone.
“Are you sure you can last that long?” you ask, and his fingers cheekily tug on your hair. The gesture draws a chuckle from you. You open your eyes to see him full of amusement.
“You’re underestimating the stamina of a great swordsman,” he boasts.
You raise a brow. That’s a big claim. “Hm? Then why don’t you show me what your sword can do?” You straddle his hips, your drenched cunt seated against the shaft of his cock. It twitches against you, and you bring a hand down to tease the leaking tip.
“Change of plans?” Guts asks, tone wavering as you slowly pump his cock.
You hum, “I’m feeling a little impatient today.”
“What happened to milking me for all I’m worth?” The cockiness in his tone returns. “Going back now on those big claims?”
You chuckle and flick the head of his cock, watching Guts writhe in response. “You’re trying to rile me up, but it’s not working,” you say.
“Can you blame me? You’re irresistible when you get all fired up,” he says,
You line up the tip of his cock with your entrance, slowly sinking down until his entire length is inside you. “Sorry to disappoint, but the only one losing their cool today is you.”
You start bouncing your hips, finding a steady rhythm to keep. Angling your body, his cock drags against your walls in all the right places. Guts begins aiming his thrusts when he notices how you cry out each time he hits the mark.
Guts groans, face screwed tight in concentration. “You’re gonna squeeze me to death,” he moans.
You smirk, running your hands across his chest. “It took you this long to realize my intentions?”
He responds with an airy laugh. “You always were a damn good strategist.”
“And you’re living up to your title, General,” you say, feeling a twitch inside you. “Oh? You like it when I call you that, don’t you?”
Guts looks at you with a sheepish grin. “If I say I do, will you call me that more often?” he asks.
You hum, tracing his abs with your fingertips. “I’ll consider it, but it would have to be sparingly. Don’t want to inflate your ego too much,” you tease. A spank smarts your ass. The sting is quickly soothed by a gentle massage. You retaliate with slow, deep thrusts, grinning when Guts curses and loses his ability to form sentences.
His cock throbs inside you, swelling up in preparation for his release. Guts’s fingers are bruising your hips, and he’s rutting into you. Slamming yourself down, you remain seated.
“Fuck, I was so close,” he groans, cock twitching in your warm cunt.
“I know. That’s why I stopped,” you say.
Guts looks at you with betrayal. “You, my dear, are a cruel lover.”
You tsk and clench tightly around him. “I may be a bit mean, but never cruel.”
“If this isn’t cruelty, then wha—“
You cut him off with a roll of your hips, successfully speech-jamming him. “You’ll see,” you say.
You continue drawing out his release, bringing Guts near the edge only to wrench him away. You’ve lost count—not that you were even counting in the first place—of how many potential orgasms you’ve robbed him of. But from the sour gleam in his eyes, a few too many.
Any of his attempts to take over the pace are thwarted when you turn into an immovable object. The loss of friction is not deemed a worthwhile risk because Guts soon lets you have your way after only a few attempts.
“Good boy,” you purr, a chuckle tickling the back of your throat. “Look at you, getting turned on when so much as a compliment is awarded.” You drag your fingers down his chest, sloping along the defined ridges of his muscles. “It’s kind of cute,” you admit.
Guts watches you through hooded lids, mouth parting as incoherent pleas spill between his lips. You tsk and twist your lips into a mock frown. “Oh no. Did I wear you down already?” You cradle his face in your hand, brushing your thumb across his cheek. “I can feel you throbbing inside me. Do you want to cum?” you ask, receiving a shudder in response when you roll your hips.
“Mhmm,” he grunts, nodding in fervour. Guts runs his hands along your thighs, gently squeezing the soft flesh. “Please,” he adds politely.
You hum and slow your movements. “Do you deserve to?”
It’s borderline hilarious to watch the gears in his head turn. The vacant look in his eyes shifts as they widen. “I do,” he says, but the slight wobble in his tone is tinged with nerves.
You can’t stop the grin forming on your face and opt to kiss his damp forehead to hide it. “Relax,” you hush, “I’ll let you cum……
“…eventually.”
Guts groans and slides a hand between your thighs, fingers searching for your clit. You clench tightly around him when he taps it gently with his thumb. “Looks like the blood’s starting to rush back into the right head”—Guts slams his hips upwards, nearly winding you—“Ow, fuck! Ok, ok. No more jokes during sex.” You wince from your sore abdomen. “I’ll cut you a deal,” you pause to gain his attention. “If you make me orgasm within the next ten minutes, I’ll let you cum.”
“You can’t take back your word,” he grunts through gritted teeth. You squeal, arms flailing to wrap around his neck when he flips you onto the ground. There’s a pregnant pause as you stare into each other's eyes. Warm. There’s so much warmth in his gaze for you. “Beautiful,” he says, running his fingers along your face.
Your chest squeezes tight. You turn your head, feeling the cool stone floor press against your burning cheeks. “9 minutes,” you say. Guts clicks his tongue and lifts one of your legs over his shoulder. He angles his thrusts, ramming into the deepest parts of you. The inferno consuming your body melts your bones to liquid.
“With the sounds you’re making, it won’t be long,” he grunts. You clench tightly around him like a vice. Every well-aimed thrust sends your walls pulsating around his cock. The familiar tightening in your stomach takes hold and threatens to tear you asunder. “Fuck you look so good like this, I don’t think I can hold out much longer.”
You feel calloused fingers brush against your clit, and a bolt of electricity strikes the base of your spine. He chuckles at the way your body curls open like a flower, eager to meet the sun’s rays. When your hips raise to meet him halfway, who is he to deny you of more pleasure?
He brings a finger to his mouth, groaning at your lingering taste on his skin. Before you know it, the building pleasure threatens to burst. He rolls your clit between his fingers, applying constant pressure. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head.
How much time was left? Gods, you don’t remember anymore. All you can think about is how you’re a second away from release.
The intensity drops. Guts’s thrusts remain deep; his cock drags along your walls in a sweet, slow torture. The flames licking your body from the inside are dying, but the embers are stoked just enough to keep the fire going. “You wouldn’t dare,” you seethe between clenched teeth. The muscles in your jaw are almost as tense as the knot in your stomach.
“Who says I wouldn’t?” Guts remarks calmly. A slight chill creeps up your spine, and you begin to sweat for reasons other than physical exertion.
“But then you don’t get to cum,” you say, trying to build a counterargument to sway him. You were so close; you needed just a little more to get there. In all honesty, both of you knew that if he really wanted to, Guts could easily ignore the bet. But that would mean destroying the mutual trust you spent years building. And you know both of you would rather die than betray the other.
“You said within the next ten minutes, I still have two left.” He slaps your pubic mound lightly, fingers resting above your swollen clit. “It’s not like you specified a time, only a period. So it doesn’t matter if there’s only a second left as long as you cum before it’s over.”
You shudder. What have you done?
Guts begins mumbling to himself. Between the grunts and groans, you can just barely make out a decreasing string of numbers. He’s seriously counting down the seconds he has left before the bet is over??
You arch your back, fingers fisting the stone floor with nothing to ground you. “Fuck me,” you sigh, lifting your hips to feel his cock brush against that sensitive spot.
“Already am,” Guts rasps, wiping the sweat from your brow. “Any other requests?”
“Yeah, fuck me harder.”
He leans down to plant a kiss on your damp forehead. “As you wish.”
And fuck you harder he does. You swear you must be above the clouds with all the stars you see. The slap of flesh echoes in your ears, filled with strained grunts and moans. You like it when Guts is vocal; it makes you feel like you’re doing a good job. One of the quickest ways he can turn you on is by moaning your name, which he’s doing right now. His breathy sighs as your name slips out of his mouth repeatedly like a prayer… it drives you crazy.
There’s only one thought in your mind; it overtakes all the others. You’re on the brink of an orgasm, standing at the edge of a cliff as you wait for the final push. “M’ close,” you say. Your clit throbs, and you feel a tug in your navel as the pressure builds.
“Then let’s bring you closer.” He slowly increases the pace, and your nails claw his back, leaving scratches in their wake. “I want you to look at me when you come undone. Can you do that for me?” You nod, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head when he rubs your clit. “Good.” His fingers maintain pace, and he consistently rams his cock against your g-spot.
Your body thrums with pleasure, ready to come undone at his command. Guts wraps a hand around your throat and squeezes gently. He wasn’t affecting your oxygen supply, but fuck did it do things to you. His thrusts become deeper, pounding into you at a steady rhythm.
That was all it took to shove you off the edge. Your walls spasm around his cock in a toe-curling orgasm. All you can focus on is the waves of mind-numbing pleasure crashing into you, the force of the undertow sweeping you away.
Guts continues to thrust, helping you ride out your orgasm. As you come down from your high, dizzy and lightheaded, you feel his cock swell inside you. He pulls out, pumping his cock as his warm seed spills onto your stomach.
You laugh a breathy chuckle, staring at the mess he made. “I think I need another bath,” you say.
Guts kisses the top of your head and says, “Then let’s get cleaned up.” He scoops an arm underneath your knees and wraps the other around your back.
“Guts!”
“Don’t worry. I won’t drop you,” he says, walking towards the pool. Wading in, he brings you to the stream of water. Already, the spray of droplets is freezing against your skin. You shudder and cling closer to Guts and the heat he radiates. “I’ll help you wash up,” and he lowers your legs, a hand still resting on the small of your back.
“I am capable of washing myself,” you say. Hopefully, the rising sun made the water at least slightly more tolerable. But from how it feels like your feet are encased in ice, you don’t have much hope.
Guts cups some water in his hands and pours it onto your shoulders. “I know you can, but I want to,” he says, kissing the side of your temple. “So stop being stubborn and let me help you.”
You roll your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t kn—“ Guts flicks water at your face with a smirk. You pause, your brain struggling to process what happened. “You!” Your eyes narrow into a glare.
Guts bolts, his laughter reverberating the cave walls. You run after him, but it’s difficult despite the water reaching only your calves. Guts is somehow brute forcing his way, but you adapt a weird mixture of hopping and running to catch up.
Once you’re within arm's length of Guts, you kick up the water, successfully splashing him. The smug grin on your face falters when he turns around with a mischievous glint in his eyes. He moves only a single step before your flight instincts take over.
Your heart is thumping against your chest, thundering in your ears. His fingertips brush against your spine, and you squeal, dodging to the side. Large splashes grow closer and closer. But they suddenly stop. And amid your confusion, you stop running.
Looking over your shoulder, you see no sign of Guts except a few ripples in the water where you expected him to be.
“Got ya!” Big, strong hands wrap around your waist, and the ground disappears beneath your feet. The world spins in a whirlwind of lights and cool shades of blue and purple. As your surroundings grind to a halt, warm arms pull you into an embrace. Your laughter is dampened by his hug, and you blink to quell the dizziness.
You stare into his eyes, watching black swallow brown. He brings a hand up to cup your cheek. “Shower?” you whisper, unwilling to break the stillness. If the universe would let you, you would spend every day like this with him. To wake and sleep together, sharing the mundane moments of life and experiencing the little pockets of joy as they occur. But that’s not the kind of world you live in— not if Griffith has anything to say about it.
Guts leans forward to plant a kiss on your forehead. “Yeah, let’s get cleaned up.” He guides you back to the waterfall, fingers intertwined. You follow him without resistance. All the running around has warmed you up, but that only makes the water feel colder. Guts is careful as he washes you. “I know it’s cold, but you’re being so good for me,” he coos. His hands firmly glide across your skin. You feel him pause to trace the scars on your body, gently tracing the thin lines on your lower abdomen. His touch dips down between your thighs, and you part them.
He does nothing more than clean up the mess he made, but you’re still sensitive. Little tremors run through your body, the aftershocks of your ground-shaking orgasm. Guts surprises you with a kiss on your neck. You swear this man is trying to kill you with his affection. With the uncomfortable slickness gone, you lean against Guts and relish in him pampering you. If only you had brought more soap. You could have asked him to wash your hair.
“Done?” he asks, to which you nod. Guts picks you up again and carries you to dry land, where he dries you off with the towel again. “Arms up,” he commands. And before you know it, a shirt is pulled over your head. The fabric still smells like him. Smoke from a fire pit and the medicinal scent of herbs from his ointment. You glance over and watch him put on his pants. Your eyes trail along the scars on his body. Most of them have healed nicely, but they’ll always remain to remind you how close to death you were that night.
Your fingers absentmindedly rest against the area of your brand. Before you can slip into a spiral, Guts calls out your name. His brows are furrowed, and his eyes are focused on where your hand is. “I’ll be fine,” you insist. You’re unsure if he believes you, but he nods and doesn’t pry further.
Your eyes begin to droop, and a big yawn escapes your mouth. “I think it’s time to rest,” Guts says. Luckily, your sleeping arrangements aren’t too far. With Rickert’s help, Erica was able to find a larger bedroll for you and Guts to share. You never voiced the thought out loud, but you liked the closeness it forced. Something about sleeping in his arms brought you a sense of peace and security.
When he holds you at night, the nightmares leave you in peace. The screams quiet, and the stench of iron is replaced with cedar and smoke. The arms around your waist are tender. Guts is like a kiln; you’re dry clay—fragile at first but robust after exposure to his warmth.
“Why’re you looking at me like that?” Guts asks, petting your hair. You’re lying in bed, limbs tangled like vines wrapped around a tree.
The corners of your lips curl up. “Like what?”
Guts leans his forehead against yours. “Like I’m everything to you. That’s my job,” he says.
You’re smiling so much your cheeks ache. “I love you.”
Guts mirrors your smile. His hand slides down to cup your face. You can feel his breath tickle your skin. His eyes dart to your parted lips before closing the gap.
The kiss is slow and tender. Soft, pliable lips that leave you panting for air. Guts trails his mouth along your jawline, leaving a path of fire as he moves to the hollow of your throat.
You can’t help but let out a content sigh when he pays attention to the sensitive area. Your cheeks tingle at the thought of waking up and being greeted with a new mark. Guts plants one last kiss on your collarbone before drawing you closer to him.
“I love you so much,” he mumbles into your skin. You snuggle into him, wanting his scent to envelop you. His next words are so quiet you almost miss them. “Promise me you won’t leave, too.”
Your heart stutters in your chest. You look into his eyes and see a reflection of what you’ve become. His dark circles fare no better than yours, and that vengeful spark has dulled, having been weathered over time by grief.
You lost your friends and family, but so did he.
With the brand carved into your skin and the spirits waiting around every corner to devour you…. “You know I can’t promise you that,” you say, and you hate how your words feel like a punch to your own gut.
“Then lie to me and promise anyway,” he whispers, staring at you through glossy eyes.
You bite your lip but refuse to look away. Raising a hand to wipe his tears, you say, “I promise to stay for as long as I’m able.”
Guts nods, soothed by your response. “Rest. I’ll keep us safe.”
Us. The word sends your heart a flutter. You shift into a comfortable position and drift into darkness, dreaming of campfires and starry skies for once.
End Note:
It's like I can't decide whether I want the fic to be sad, happy, or horny. So why not all three?
I also decided to bite the bullet and get image dividers, because trying to get center formatting and having it stay consistent across platforms is tiring. Do they look ok? I got them from a Tumblr post by @/saradika if anyone wanted to know.
I have no idea when my next work will come out. I already have some fics queued up and knowing myself, I'll either speed right through them, or drag them out too long and lose interest lol
I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ
Reblogs are appreciated!
#guts x reader#guts x reader smut#berserk x reader#berserk fic#berserk#afab reader#otherwise gender neutral#no y/n#fluff and smut#Angst#But just a smidge#It helps season the fic#This sat in my drafts way too long#Why is writing smut so hard#Why can't I have some sort of divine oracle to enlighten me?#Time to yeet this into the void and never look back
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Pedro boys and watches
Some of you may or may not know that I have a ✨thing✨ for watches. I’ve wanted to do this post for about two years now, I’m so happy to finally yeet this into the void. Commentary below the cut ⌚️
While I have you here and we haven't done this in a while - why not a poll? Discussion welcome as always!
P.S. Please don't @ me if I missed any Pedro boy... I think I haven't lol.
• Masterlist •
Related posts:
Rolex & pinky ring: Javi G v Max Lord
Spy watch: Marcus Moreno v Jack Daniels
Joel Miller
Need a say anything about Joel and his watch? It's a small but powerful reminder of Sarah, and it will never not touch my heart when I see it.
Javier Pena
We have so many good shots of Javier and his watch, I might just have to do a proper compilation of it some other time (I did do a very early post on this gosh I've come far with gif making lol). I like to think that Chuco gave it to him, and in one of the closeups, I can see engraving on the band. I'll need to go back and check if I can see what the word is!
Tim Rockford
Tim has a surprisingly fancy looking watch! I was surprised to get such a good look at it, it looks like a chronograph with three dials on the face.
Marcus Moreno and Jack Daniels
We already ran a poll about this, and I agree with the majority of you that our cowboy has slicker wristwear than our superhero dad!
Dave York
I always find it funny in that kitchen scene the way Dave looks so deliberately at his watch several times. It's a classy one with what looks like a leather band, it goes well with our favourite suburban murder daddy's office wardrobe.
Frankie Morales
The watch that was the beginning of a beautiful friendship with @imaswellkid ❤️ I did a way too detailed post about Frankie's watch here, I won't repeat myself here.
Javi G and Max Lord
The subject of another poll, these two fancy pants both sport a Rolex (Javi's is steel and yellow gold, Max's is yellow gold) and a pinky ring.
#pedro pascal polls#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal cinematic universe#fuckyeahpolls#joel miller#narcos#javier pena#javi gutierrez#agent whiskey#tim rockford#marcus moreno#frankie morales#dave york#max lord
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Hi, may I please request Reader is Australian and is a judge on the Voice, Australia. Hailee (Steinfeld obviously), with the other judges help to surprise Reader by 'auditioning'. (Reader obviously turns her chair. They've been dating for a couple of years.)
keep on coming back for more [H.Steinfeld]
pairing: hailee steinfeld x musician!reader
summary: you don't really like surprises...unless they involve a certain brunette and your favorite song.
warnings: none, just fluff; me pretending like i know what i'm talking about when i really don't; R is technically a guitar player but that's not expanded upon; like two seconds of nervous hailee
wordcount: 1k
a/n: messed around with the pov on this one again so...yeet. i also did the most scuffed research on the voice, australia so forgive me if it sucks/if things are too vague. this fic was also just an excuse for me to scream into the void about rock bottom because it's one of hailee's best songs, argue with the wall. [but not the version with dnce because...men. do i have to say anything else?] hope you enjoy <3
* * * * * * *
Hailee knows being nervous about this is ridiculous but that doesn’t stop her heart from thundering in her chest or her hands from growing clammy. Usually, those things are a sign of excitement but today, the butterflies in her stomach feel a little more uneasy than usual.
It’s been more than a few years since the last time she performed this song live and, if she’s being completely honest with herself, she’s worried about what you’ll think.
Surprises aren’t her strong suit, especially not when they involve your work but it’s been a few months since you left L.A to start working on The Voice, Australia and she hasn’t had a chance to come see you until now.
She was originally just going to visit you on set and let that be the surprise but she may have texted Rita Ora about her idea to fly to Sidney to see you and then one thing led to another and now she’s here. Minutes away from pretending to be yet another blind audition for the show.
Everyone had agreed it would be a great way to get more people to watch the show, or at the very least the clip that would be posted on YouTube later, but she didn’t care about any of that. She just cared about getting to see your smile again.
“You’re on in five.”
The brunette nods in response, practically counting down the seconds until the two of you are finally reunited. Dramatic, sure, but also sweet in a way that makes you melt every time.
While Hailee’s getting ready for her surprise performance, you are doing your best to act like you’re paying complete attention to whatever ‘argument’ Rita and Jessica are having to convince the most recent auditioner to join their team.
You’ve been a witness to these ‘arguments’ a couple of times since filming started but you always stay out of them. Mainly because they’re fun to watch but also because you’re technically the new kid on the block and you have some massive shoes to fill. Keith Urban-sized shoes to be specific.
You still don’t know how you went from playing the guitar in your room to being a professional musician to being a judge on The Voice but you’re not about to complain. That doesn’t mean the job isn’t tiring but you can’t afford to look like you don’t know what you’re doing.
The young singer ends up choosing Rita’s team and you’re given a quick break as the crew gets everything ready for the next contestant. You resist the urge to check your phone, knowing all it will do is make you miss your girlfriend. This wasn’t the first time the two of you were doing long distance but it never gets easier.
You don’t get the chance to dwell on your thoughts too long since filming resumes. You straighten your back in the surprisingly comfortable chair and prepare yourself for the next blind audition.
A few seconds go by before you hear the beginning notes of a song you know like the back of your hand. The smile on your face gives away your growing excitement at getting to hear someone cover a song you love so much.
You're honestly a little surprised it's taken so long for someone to audition using one of Hailee’s songs. It’s a shock but a welcome one for sure. Just because they're using one of your girlfriend’s songs doesn't mean you'll go easy on them, though. You’re easygoing but extremely picky when you want to be. And you’ll be extra picky just to honor the one you love more than anything else.
“What are we fighting for? Seems like we do it just for fun…”
Your eyes widen at the sound of that voice.
For a second you think you’re imagining things but there’s no possible way you could be wrong. You could be underwater with a bag over your head and still manage to recognize your girlfriend’s voice.
“Breathe deep, bottle it up…”
You don’t waste another second in pressing the red button that allows you to turn around and see Hailee in all her glory. Your breath gets caught in your throat at the sight of her and suddenly, everything else around you disappears. The lights, the audience, even your fellow judges, all you can see and hear is her.
Her brown eyes are trained on you and you have no doubt she’s feeling exactly what you’re feeling. The smile on her face tells you all you need to know about where her mind is. “Oh, we’re on the right side of rock bottom…”
She can’t hold herself back any longer and she takes a few long strides, walking down the stage steps and reaching your chair with a smile so bright it rivals every star you’ve ever seen. Her hand reaches out toward you and you take it without hesitation, allowing her to pull you toward her.
The moment might go viral later but neither of you is focused on anything except the other.
“You’re the best kind of bad something,” she sings, her face mere inches away from yours. “‘Cause we keep on coming back for more.”
This time, you’re the one who can’t hold back. You wait for her to pull her microphone away before you lean in and capture her lips in a kiss filled with all the love you’ve had to keep inside since you left L.A.
You have no doubt the studio probably wanted more words exchanged and overly dramatic shocked expressions but all those complaints will come later. Hell, you’ll even reshoot the whole thing if it means getting to spend time with Hailee on set. But all of that can wait until later.
“Warn a person next time,” you whisper with a grin once the two of you part for air.
“Where’s the fun in that, babe?”
You playfully roll your eyes at her, pretending to be annoyed when you’re truly overjoyed to hear her teasing remarks in person again. “You’re the worst.”
“You love me,” she replies with a shrug.
She starts to move away but you pull her back in for another quick kiss before she can get too far.
You hear the commotion that comes with getting ready for filming to resume but you’re too busy giving Hailee all your attention to care. You’re incredibly grateful for the opportunity to be here, and you absolutely love your job, but your girlfriend will always come first.
#hailee steinfeld x reader#hailee steinfeld x female reader#hailee steinfeld x you#hailee steinfeld x y/n#hailee steinfeld fic#hailee steinfeld fluff#hailee steinfeld imagine#hailee steinfeld fanfiction#hailee steinfeld#hawkeye#mcu#mcu fanfiction#marvel#wlw#wlw fic#writing
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Trinkets
Ezra x F!Reader
Summary; You hate him.
Content | Warnings; explicit sexual content, hate fucking, spitting, hair pulling, unprotected sex, cumplay, general feralness.
A/N; I can't say I wasn't warned about this movie. I can say I wasn't adequately warned and therefore feel completely justified in blaming @the-ginger-hedge-witch & @astroboots
unbeta'd and yeeted into the void.
He comes home different. The missing limb, the softer edges, the creases deeper in the corner of his eyes. The scrap of a girl he buys a room for pays extra to be sure she’s left alone as he nods at her as she closes the door in his face.
“Stray?” you ask, pulling your robe tighter around yourself as he turns to the side, slipping between the frame and your not quite open door. Ezra never did like to ask for permission.
“Don’ look at her, look at me,” he says, fingers beneath your chin as he kicks the door shut. Not a new injury then. He’s confident enough in the movement, in the absence of weight on his right side that you can tell he’s used to balancing, the untethered weight matching his crooked smile.
You bite back the question, swallowing it like lead as he walks the perimeter of the room. It hasn't changed since he was last here, months ago, maybe. You’re wearing the same threadbare robe, the metal of your floor is just as cold, the sheets and blankets the same faded floral patterns, something you once thought pretty, now looking sad and grim.
He studies just enough to make you uncomfortable, the silence and clink of worthless trinkets enough to throw you off-kilter, make an uncomfortable shiver appear on your skin. He likes you like this, unprepared and disarmed by the hunt of his gaze, the cool indifference of his stare as he traces your bare legs, the frayed edges of your robe. He rearranges the decor on your shelf, picking up and putting down the pretty worthless gemstones until you shift uncomfortable, crossing at the ankles.
“Take it off” he gives you barely a nod, a shake of the head as he unzips his clothing, chest with mottled bruises and sparse hair appearing as he throws it on your clean floor. Defiance slithers in your stomach, your chest expanding with refusal, a quip, an eye roll. It dies with his thumb tracing his bottom lip. He wants to fuck it out of you, he always likes a little fight.
He wants your teeth, your nails, his blood on your fingers. The only thing he can give you, little tactile pieces of himself in place of promises he doesn't intend to keep. He gives you keepsakes. Rings of teeth on your thigh that take weeks to fade, a mottled bruise you can count the days with, pain in the shape of his palm print, affection something his whispers as you fall asleep.
You thought he was seeking softness, the first time you saw him. Something warm and safe to sink into, lose himself in as he shed the weight off his shoulders, stripped himself bare. He’s made of sharp edges. Glass and broken things, puncture wounds in waiting. He has no place for softness, no need to sift through the pieces of what he breaks, find the seam and mend them. He leaves the fallen in his wake.
You turned him to a girl whose heart he broke in darkness, who pined for a love she never had with a sweet face and an uplifted spirit. Slashed to pretty ribbons as he left with the heart he never promised her. You went after him next, physical revenge for the psychic damage, for the girl whose laughter he stole in a single night.
He’d put you against the wall as if you weighed nothing, pressing a thick thigh between your legs, pausing enough in his questions to sniff your throat, close enough to brush the sweat on your unwashed skin.
He had laughed at your reasons, at the weapon you thought to use on him, an annoyance rather than a threat. The low roll of his voice a foreign lullaby, an apology that tasted of bitter poison, settling under your skin.
“Said nothin’ bout stayin” he murmured. “I promised her she could have me for one night and have me she did, however she wanted, squealing on my tongue and fingers til the sunrise. My fault? That she tried to take more than was offered? That she wanted more than I was willing to so graciously share?”
His lips had grazed your pulse then, enough to taste its speed, scent the layered coats of fear and sticky arousal of the press of him, the steel on your back giving you nowhere to run.
“Because I am gracious,” he said, trailing a finger across your jaw. “Even to those with weapons they don't know how to use”
He kissed you like an attack, licking inside the cavern of your mouth with a hand fixed around your jaw, the weapon hanging useless at your side as you tasted the groan that rumbled through his lungs.
“Off”
You strayed too long in the past, the memory of his teeth, tugging your bottom lip, turning you in the darkened corner you’d chosen for your assassination, tearing just enough of your clothing to smear his slick fingers through your folds, cover your mouth and snarl, a command for you to come on his fingers.
“You hate me girl?” he had asked, pulling his hand from your underwear, subtly adjusting himself as your knees shook.
“Yes,” you spat, bracing your hands against the wall as you met his eyes.
You’d watched him walk away, half a smirk as he wiped the shine of you on his lips, left your knees weak and your mind foggy. He showed up at your door later. You never gave him your address.
He yanks the robe from your body, pulling stitches loose with thick fingers as you let him. You always let him in, the door open just enough for him to slip through, the defiance just enough to wear like armour, to save yourself from being shattered like the pretty gemstones on your shelf.
He pulls you to your bed, your feet following willingly as he sits, your knees straddling his lap as you brush the patch of blonde that seems to glow in the grimy light.
“I want to eat your cunt” He grabs your jaw to force eye contact, he keeps still as frozen water waiting for your agreement. He always waits for your agreement. He likes to win. When you nod he lays back, a clumsy heap of muscle as he falls, no arm to catch him as he waits, wanting to watch you shuffle, gently perch your naked body over his shoulders.
His hand circles your waist, a delicate pattern in a language you don't speak drawn on your spine as he watches, the shape of you as you feel your slick lips peel open for him, a petal waiting to bloom.
He spits on you, holding his mouth open to catch the drips of saliva and your own wetness on his tongue, the taste of you a hint as he breathes you in, loud and obscene, a groan rumbling through his shoulders as his hand anchors to your hip, holding you still.
“Taste like sunshine on the green” is all he gives, his breath hot over you as your hips jerk without permission, a pulse between your legs like a drumbeat of anticipation, waiting for the soft touch of his mouth.
He savours you, the final ration in his pack, lazy slow and seeking, snaking his tongue gently through your folds. He juts his chin, his nose into the wet heat of your cunt, scraping his beard against your clit. He’ll ask you to lick it off later, tell you he only wants to share. Your clit throbs in his mouth, the fluttering gentle suction making your thighs shake, the effort of not crushing him, the acknowledgement that it may not be as easy for him to signal distress.
His teeth sink into your thigh, enough to make you yelp, the zing of pain through your system pouring ice in your veins as you try to jerk away, held in place by his hand, his mouth, the fire in his stare.
“Don’ hold back on me.” he snarls, rage vibrating through his system, a hand cracking across your backside. “Pulling away like drowning in the sweetest honey would be a terrible way to go.”
“I-”
“Didn’ ask for your opinion, I asked for your cunt on my mouth”
Defiance pulls like a tide, your hips rolling into his waiting face, you feel a smirk on his lips as you rest your weight on him. He likes to fuck it out of you. A groan like salvation rolls through his chest, puffs of warm air and slick lips as he mouths at your folds, chases your clit as you grind on his face, holds you still enough to suck, anchor a nip of teeth around the berry of your clit and encourage the aching throb. The scratch of his beard scraping through your spine as his fingers dig hard enough to bruise.
Your hand twists in his hair as he laps at you, a starving beast, spitting and smearing as his groans increase in volume, matched by the broken whines you don't realise you're releasing, he pulls at you, tugging your hips harder into his face, mouthing through your dripping folds as you squirm, writhe against the iron grip he has on your hip, the barest scrape of his teeth.
He holds you still to watch your orgasm, wrench his lips from the swollen berry of your clit and stare unashamed at the way you flutter and clench for him, those same soothing patterns are drawn on your hot skin, half a groan, half a laugh erupting from his chest. You want to hit him, you want to fight. He likes it, the twist of your anger with arousal, burning hot in your belly as he shifts under your shaking form, pulls himself up your threadbare bed, his pants straining tight beneath you as he reaches to snarl a hand in the base of your hair, pull you close enough to smell your own release on his mouth.
“You still hate me, girl?” he asks, brushing his nose against yours as you reach for the fastening of his pants, shoving them down over his hips.
“Yes,” you whisper, lining yourself up to sink on him slowly, watching the curl of his lip, the feral snarl as he stretches you, the way his hand tightens in your hair. He asks you every time. You’re not sure when you started lying.
“You should” he smiles, pulling you to his mouth for a fervent kiss. It’s all teeth and soft lips, the snapping of his hips sudden and ferocious as he plants his feet to fuck into you, heavy breath ghosting across your cheeks as your hands screw into the sheets, grasping for purchase as his arm snakes around your back, the sound of wet squelching skin filling the room.
“Should bring you with me next time. Take it out on you instead, come back to a tent and find you just like this for me, wet and swollen open, just waiting for me to fill you up, hm?”
He pulls your hair, exposing the column of your throat to lick the salt from your skin, bite into the hammering of your pulse, and leave a mark that you’ll cover with clothing, but trace in a mirror with heated cheeks.
“Keep you safe and warm and well-fucked, would you like that girl?” He doesn't want an answer, his eyes straying to the shaking muscle of your arms, holding you over him, trembling as he savagely fucks up into you, hearing your whine of pleasure is enough.
It almost hurts. Straddling the fine line between too much and not enough as you shake above him, coming apart at the seams. You want to shout at him, for more, for less, for something as he takes and takes from you, his teeth moving in tandem with the empty promises from his lips.
“Another, I want another” he groans, with a sharp slap across your ass, pulling you into the motion with him, forcing you to rock and bounce on his length, grind your clit into the hard plane of his pelvis, the corded muscle pushing you over the edge with a soft cry.
“Good, that’s good girl,” he says, giving you the barest hint of a smile as he pulls you to him for another messy kiss. He pushes the hair from your forehead, sticky and warm as his movements turn slow, a lazy steady rhythm as he chases his own release on the whitewash of your own.
When he cums, it's slow. Long and thick pulses you feel deep inside you, sliding around his length to coat you both, puddle messy in the weak lamplight of your room. The sounds he makes are gorgeous, hymns from another world as they fall into the shell of your ear.
You feel him soften, slipping from you with a drip of release. He nudges your nose again, angling for a softer meeting of your mouths, an almost lazy kiss. An indulgence for him you know. It distracts you enough that you jolt when you feel his fingers, thick and strong between your legs, swiping through your combined release with a satisfied hum.
He pulls it to his mouth, sucking his fingers clean as you roll off him, breathless and biting your lip, trapping questions between your teeth. They're the same ones you always swallow, the unfamiliar cracks in your ribcage reopening, yawning raw and exposed.
“I’m going to wash” is all you say, standing to grab your robe from the floor, not giving him the grace of a look before you leave the room. He’ll be gone before you come back, he always is.
You scrub your skin pink, hopeful that he hasn't sunk deep below the tissue this time, that you can wash his effect on you down the drain and ignore the clawing in your stomach. This wretched sadness threatens you whenever you return to change the sheets, treat him as the anomaly he is, rather than the fixture you've begun to want.
He’s asleep when you return, curled beneath your threadbare filthy sheets, his missing arm raised as if the ghost of a limb was behind his head. You watch his features, the softened corners of his mouth, the smoothness of his brow and feel it burrow deeper.
With a shaky breath, you shed your robe to join him, careful not to touch as you climb beneath the sheets, feeling the heat radiating from his body as you settle facing away from him. He snatches at you like a weapon, a gun drawn from a holster as he pulls you back into him, burying his face in your hair.
“Meant it girl. Come with me, I’ll keep you safe” is all he says.
In the silence, you look at the trinkets on your shelf, the worthless gems that glint pretty in the weak light. He’s added three more. Fat glowing shards of blues and greens, mixed the new with the old so maybe you wouldn't notice.
He always leaves you with pretty things.
#ezra prospect#ezra x reader#ezra x you#ezra prospect x reader#ezra x female reader#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal character fanfiction
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cuffing szn 3 | knj
pairing: fbi agent!namjoon x soft-bodied/plus-sized female reader
genre: strangers to lovers, an attempt at crack??, little bit of angst, smut
summary: All Namjoon wants is some peace and quiet after a long, shitty day at work. Thanks to a party upstairs and Jungkook’s sticky fingers, he’s stuck with you instead.
rating: 18+ for weighty topics and explicit sexual content
word count: 5.5k
warnings: Swearing, always. Feelings have been caught oops. MUTUAL PINING WHAT HAVE I DONE. Light angst. Getting stood up by a blind date :(. Dance parties involving cheesy pop songs :). Grumpy Namjoon :D. Creative typographical choices because this is my ART. Brotp Taekook. Tae tries to waltz in 6/8 time. Jokes about goth girls! Making out in a public place with no one else around. Lil bit of grinding, lots of tongue, etc. A reminder that Reader’s got a soft body :)
notes: So um first of all, sorry this is early? I think I'm coming down with a bug (already have a PCR test scheduled, so here's hoping it's not covid, I've been playing expert level frogger trying to dodge it) so I want to go ahead and post this a little early juuuuust in case I feel like a hot dumpster on Thursday! And like, idk, I really love this chapter, and I'm excited to share it! I don't think anyone's going to complain about an early arrival :)
notes 2: This comeback is going to be my death and destruction, alright? They look SO good?????? So I’m yeeting this into the void and getting some rest to prepare because oof I am not feeling prepared. I tend to stay pretty absent from socials around comebacks so my responses to feedback may not be immediate but I will get back to you!! Are y’all excited? It’s going to be amazing!
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A week passes, and then another. Namjoon continues to linger in your mind. The ghost of his warmth on your skin, the feeling of him inside you, his flesh against yours … None of it fades.
But it’s not just that. It’s not just physical. It’s the way he checked in that’s really stuck with you. You’ve never had that before, not from a romantic partner at least. Hoseok is good at checking in with you, and so’s Taehyung. After all, you’ve all known each other for so long that you couldn’t escape the need for it. Namjoon had done it after mere hours. There’s a value he had for your comfort. He’d taken you as you were in that moment, and he’d made your body feel good while taking efforts to put you at ease.
There’s some part of him that’s with you, or perhaps you’d left some part of yourself with him. You’re not sure, but you still feel a pull; something keeps tugging your thoughts towards him. As time keeps slogging on for you, you wonder what would happen if you just showed up at his place unannounced, but something holds you back. You’d forgotten to ask for his number, but for that matter, he’d not asked for yours.
You want to let it all go, and you will. You just have to let your mind’s grip relax some, and that just takes time.
Namjoon is still haunted by the things you said to him at the party. Fuck all if you joked that you wanted a lap dance, it’s the shit you’d said before, about people in his line of work. Every time he has to sit in a car for hours on end doing surveillance on some suspected business or household, he thinks about what you said. Every time he has to sit in a meeting, updating senior agents on what he’s seen on observation duty, he thinks about the petulant cant of your hips as you crossed your arms and let your thoughts run wild and free.
He thinks about how you listened to him suddenly offload while you’d sat with him in the stairwell. He’d been a grumpy asshole and you’d still listened to him. He has so rarely ever been given space, even if he’s not thought he deserves it.
And then there was the softness of your body under his, your moans underneath his tongue, the way you’d looked at him after he’d sent you over the edge. He thinks about you all the time, and he cannot seem to stop, even if he wanted to. He thinks about how he’d not traded numbers with you, and feels supremely stupid. Maybe you hadn’t wanted it; you hadn’t asked for it, after all, and he’s not about to push someone if they don’t want him.
He’s so mired in his thoughts about you that he almost misses the email from HR. They’re looking to bring a few people into an established task force that’s investigating some sketchy financial situation. It’s like any other dubious scheme run by men with too much money, but it’s what Namjoon wants to work on. He replies, asking for more information, and signs up for an interview time.
He’s still thinking about you, and how he fucked up a chance to see you again. He’s not about to fuck up a chance to do something better with himself.
To say that your blind date had gone poorly is an understatement. Your coworker had said he was a nice guy, and you’d trusted her. Instead, he’d never showed.
It was sad, really. You couldn’t keep doing this thing where you pined for a man who’d likely forgotten about you by now. It’d been a month, and you were ready to go out and have fun with someone new. Even if you didn’t quite hit it off with this guy, he’d at least help get Namjoon out of your system, even if just for a little bit.
You can’t know if you’re going to hit it off with someone or not if they don’t show up, though. As if this week weren’t hellish enough. Work’d been a nightmare recently, you’ve been yelled at by clients and your boss more than once and you just want to lie under a weighted blanket and not wake up for ten hours. This is just the cherry on top.
This mystery man, your blind date, means nothing to you. He certainly can’t mean anything if you’ve never met him. But the fact that you were so unimportant he decided to just not fucking show up? It sucks. It’s rough. You can’t help but wonder why, but what’s the point?
Which is why you, now a blithering mess, still dressed in your date clothes, have knocked on Taehyung’s door. You don’t need a guy to forget another. You don’t need a date to get over your shit. You need a friend or two and a movie and some hot chocolate.
Namjoon doesn’t bomb interviews. He doesn’t. It’s just not something he does. He doesn’t find talking to people he’s trying to impress difficult, and never really has. He doesn’t have a hard time with the nerves, and he doesn’t have a hard time selling himself to a prospective employer or supervisor. And well, he looks good on paper. His marksmanship is great, his supervisors like him, and his reviews for the past year have been glowing. He needs math, accounting experience, and the ability to work clean and fast. And he has all of that. His brain is detail oriented and catches even the most minute inconsistencies when faced with walls of information. He is the perfect candidate for transferring to the unit.
And then he went and bombed the fucking interview.
He’s not sure what happened. And really, he doesn’t want to think about it. He doesn’t want to think about anything. He wants a hot shower. He wants his bed. He wants to talk to you but, well, just like this promotion, that ship has sailed. He hardly knew you, but he feels like you’d understand, somehow. Instead he’ll have to settle for a reheated dinner from Jungkook and the dark silence of his room instead.
You’re not his to have, and you never were. But you could’ve been his to want. His fuck ups started with missing out on your number. And then they continued; the past month’s been fuck up after fuck up. Maybe this weekend he’ll go out, get you out of his system.
Namjoon can hear it as soon as he steps in the hallway. Party music is thudding down into the space from a certain upstairs neighbor’s unit. It’s always on the days when he wants to be dead to the world. Like tortured clockwork.
It’s as if that asshole knows he’s had a shit day and wants to further make him miserable.
Namjoon unlocks the door to his apartment, almost breaking the key in the lock as he goes. Jungkook’s not home, so he’s got to do all the shit by himself this time. All he does is drop his backpack on the floor before going back out immediately, stomping and slamming doors as he goes.
Taehyung is a sweet and accommodating friend, and it feels like you’ve never been more in need of that energy than this evening. After you’d gotten there, you’d changed into the comfy sweats you keep at his place for spontaneous hang outs. He’d hugged you as you cried. Even his dog, Yeontan, got in on the cuddles.
The thought hits you: a floor down lives a man that you’ve not been able to rid from your mind for the past several weeks. It’s not actually his fault, but it feels like it, in some way. You’re so frayed from this bungled blind date that you’ve got half a mind to march down there and give him a piece of your mind. For a moment, you’re so consumed by your anger and frustration and anxiety that you forgot what got you there in the first place. You’re too keyed up for the chill, restorative evening you thought you wanted and Taehyung can see this. You’re pacing in his living room and angry-crying, for fucks sake. You don’t need something to chill you out, you need to harness this weird energy and shake it out of your system.
So instead, he calls a friend. Some thirty minutes later, Jungkook shows up with a few pizzas and a jug of store-bought lemonade.
“Oh, hey, good to see you! And with pants on, ah I’m so proud!” Jungkook’s sweet, toothy smile so bright it’s almost hard to look at, but he doesn’t act like he’s only ever seen you twice, and one of those moments in a compromising position. He acts like a dear friend. Instead of teasing you further, he wraps you in a big hug before bending down to give Yeontan kisses. “I’m sorry you’ve had a rough week. We’re gonna make it all better, okay?”
You watch as Taehyung gives him the aux cord. He even calls you over to find out what your favorite “shout along with til you cry” songs are, and he adds them all to a playlist while Tae finds plates and cups for the food. He’s so mind numbingly kind without even trying, you want to cry all over again.
“Alright, so I do this after every bad date—"
“Jungkook, you never leave your apartment.”
“Uh, I’m here, am I not??”
“Well, yeah, but—"
“And!! I brought the food. Did. I. Not??”
“Fair,” Tae says as he crosses his arms. “So whatever you’re about to tell us to do is something you do whenever you’re sad, then?”
“Yes, fine, whatever, let me fucking finish—" He closes his eyes and takes a breath. “—Sorry, nice words. I meant that with love.”
“Anyway,” you intone, shifting your weight between your feet.
“ANYWAY,” Jungkook claps. “I really like having solo dance parties when I have a bad day! Sometimes I just turn some music up like really loud and fucking have at it.”
Tae’s nodding as if this is sage advice, but you’re not convinced.
“I don’t really dance though, so this won’t be cathartic? Like I’m not good at dancing. It’ll just be embarrassing.” You point at the little Pomeranian snoozing nearby on a throw pillow. “I don’t want to emotionally scar Yeontan, you know?”
“The point isn’t to be good, it’s to shake the shit out. No one here is going to judge bad dancing and you know that,” Tae shrugs.
Jungkook nods. “Exactly. We’ll start with something easy.”
He fiddles for a moment with his phone, and a guitar riff with a mild delay starts playing over Taehyung’s robust sound system. With a few clicks and the turn of a nob, he’s got the music at the perfect volume to start feeling it and nothing else, just as the pre-chorus finishes.
“Dude, this song is so old,” Tae grins as he starts wiggling, singing along in his soothing baritone as the first verse begins “We were victims of the night, The chemical, physical, kryptonite.”
“Her pick, not mine! But damn, it’s kind of a bop? I forgot it existed.”
The young men go from zero to an eleven out of ten as the song moves into the chorus. You can’t help but giggle as Tae takes your hands and tries to get you to start moving.
“Alright fine, but only if you sing along with me, damn.”
“Way ahead of you, doll.” And Taehyung is on it. With him and Jungkook dancing however the fuck they want, it becomes natural for you to start moving as well, and before you know it, the song is wrapping up and something else entirely is playing.
For the first time in weeks, you’re beginning to feel a little clear. And, for the first time today, you’re beginning to feel a modicum of confidence. Dancing like an idiot with two dudes who wear their love for cheesy pop anthems on their sleeve is proving to feel better than you’d ever expected.
Tae looses his mind to Girls Just Want to Have Fun, Jungkook sings into a TV remote to I Wanna Dance With Somebody. You laugh your way through Never Gonna Give You Up while they scream with glee about living the meme in the flesh. The fresh, effervescent hit of serotonin has your lungs filling like it’s the first time you’ve breathed in weeks.
And then suddenly, after taking a moment to breath, Jungkook snaps, and points at Taehyung. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“More pizza.”
“Yes, and?”
Tae stands stiff as a board. “Uh. More lemonade?”
Jungkook pouts, and taps his phone. Smooth-textured synth chords start quietly playing, crescendoing as the progression moves forward. You recognize it instantly, and so does Taehyung.
“Bro.”
“Dude, I know, it’s fucking PERFECT.”
“No matter how hard I try, you keep pushing me aside, and I can’t break through, there’s no talking to you~” Tae’s smooth baritone sounds like it was made for the song, but Jungkook’s tenor chest voice sounds just as good, just a little different. And then there’s you, not even caring what you sound like at this point. You’re so happy as you sing along with them, you could burst.
Jungkook turns the song up just the first verse finishes.
“Do you beLEIVE IN LIFE aFTER LOVE?? I CANT FEEL SOMEHTING INSIDE ME SAY—"
Through the pounding beat and the, ahem, screaming, you can hear someone start knocking on Tae’s apartment door. He grooves over the door just as Cher leads you out of the chorus, and opens it as she’s beginning the second verse.
Just as you start singing “What am I supposed to do, sit around and wait for you“ you turn to see Namjoon’s tall form standing in the door. He’s wearing a suit, the set of his shoulders heavy, as if he’s just gotten home. When your eyes meet, it’s like you’re struck by lightning.
“Well I can’t do that—"
You freeze, falling silent as every feeling you’ve had the fortune of forgetting for the past hour comes surging back. The feelings well up, and with them, you feel tears threatening to gather as well.
“There’s no turning back."
Jungkook hasn’t noticed that his roommate is standing in the door, it seems, because he’s still dancing and shouting like there’s no one there to judge him. Maybe he’s just immune to Namjoon’s derision. You, however, are not. He looks angry and for what?
“I need time to move on, I need love to feel strong."
You can faintly hear Taehyung saying something to Namjoon under the music, but you’re not sure if the man’s even paying attention. His eyes haven’t left you, you can feel their weight pressing down on you like his body had pressed down on yours weeks before.
“Cause I’ve had time to think it through—"
Namjoon’s stepping through the door. You’re not even sure if your heart is beating anymore. Your name is on his lips, but you can’t hear it. You don’t want to hear it, not in his voice.
“And maybe I’m too good for you. Oh!”
You—you can’t do this. Not after getting stood up by some complete stranger of an asshole whose choices shouldn’t matter to you. Not after thinking about the man standing before you for weeks. You like Namjoon way more than you should, and you can’t fucking do this.
You turn to retreat. It’s what you’re best at, second only to running your mouth. Tae’s bedroom isn’t far; you’ve got a straight shot from where you’re standing in his living room. You make it half way across the room before you feel a hand slip into yours, stopping you from moving further.
The way his hand folds against your own is seared into your memory. You know it’s him before you even muster the courage to turn.
Namjoon murmurs your name. You can’t get yourself to turn to look at him? Why the fuck are you crying? This is so embarrassing.
“Would you just look at me? Please?” His voice is low and warm. It’s not a command at all; it feels like a plea. It’s so hard to turn to face him, and yet the quiet, distressed tone makes it all the easier.
“What do you want, Namjoon?” you ask, your voice catching in your throat and cracking.
“I—" He bites his lip. “I’ve been thinking about you.”
Before you can answer, the music suddenly changes. A low bass overlaid by a minimalist, twangy guitar riff and shimmery synth floats through the air.
“B R O,” Taehyung groans. He picks up Yeontan, who huffs in protest, and starts dancing a clumsy waltz.
“I K N O W,” Jungkook says back. They both have very serious looks on their faces, even as one dreamily sways his hips while the other tries to match an ill fated waltz to the 6/8 time, much to the derision of his canine partner.
“Girl you know we belong together.“
Namjoon’ throws a glare at the dancing men. “Do you numbfucks mind?”
“I don't have no time for you to be playing with my heart like this.“
“No.” Jungkook and Taehyung say in unison, without looking up from their respective grooves. Jungkook continues, “We’re just trying to set the mood.”
Namjoon’s jaw tightens, along with his grip on your hand. You squeeze it back with an inward sigh.
“Do you want to talk somewhere quiet?” you ask.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”
“You know, he acts like he hasn’t gotten trashed at karaoke to that song. And I think that’s a problem,” Jungkook says as he scrolls through his app to queue up more music. He’s still swaying to “End of the Road” as it plays and then fades out.
“He’s so straight-laced that it borders on disturbing,” Taehyung replies as he sets Yeontan down and takes a piece of pizza, now cold, from the box on his coffee table. “She loves guys like that for some reason. Just loves a dude who barely knows how to have fun. I don’t get it.”
“Eh, I can see it. Namjoon’s got a thing for people who don’t take his shit. You should have heard what she said to him at the bachelor party.”
“Oh, she told me. She was doing that thing where she couldn’t stop talking and just let shit out because she was nervous because … I mean, fucking look at him. Not that anything she said was wrong, but I doubt anyone would recommend talking like that to a stranger unprompted. And he still ended up liking her,” Tae grumbles. “Now she’s insisting that she’s not hung up on him. Which, clearly, not the case at all.”
Jungkook grimaces. “Ouch. He’s been so irritable recently and I think his crush is part of the reason. He was so pissed at himself for not getting her number.”
“Yeah she wasn’t happy about forgetting either. They might’ve managed to be more organized if you hadn’t interrupted them,” Tae says between chews.
“I barely remember it, to be honest. I saved all my memory bandwidth for that night on remembering making out with Yoongi.”
“Right! He says hi, by the way. He was there when I picked Jimin up from the dance club the other night.”
“I should call him.” Jungkook sinks into the couch after grabbing a slice of pizza with a wistful look on his face. He hardly notices Tae’s dog as he hops into his lap. “You know, thinking about it, Namjoon could’ve just asked you for her number.”
Taehyung shrugs. “He could’ve asked you to ask me to give it to you so you could give it to him. Wouldn’t have been hard.”
“And she could’ve done the same on her end too,” Jungkook chuckles to himself. “Amazing.”
“So, we’re in agreement then?”
“They’re both idiots and they deserve each other? Or—” He pauses thoughtfully. He runs his fingers mindlessly over Yeontan’s coat. “That we’re the real idiots for not facilitating it?”
Taehyung raises his glass of lemonade. “Yes. Yes to all, my bro. Anyway, let’s call Yoongi and Jimin over. I’m getting bored already without anyone around to tease.”
The stairwell is neutral ground. In the stairwell, you can talk freely, without being encumbered by how a space can feel like him, or anyone else for that matter. And, blessedly, it’s quiet.
“Another rough day at work?” you ask.
Namjoon is sitting two steps down from you, his side brushing against your leg as he sighs and rubs his face with his hands.
“It’s been a long few weeks, to be honest.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
For a moment, neither of you say anything. You notice that he hasn’t pulled away from you, instead letting himself rest, just barely touching you. It doesn’t feel like enough.
“What about you?” he asks, turning to face you. His knees bump into your shins but he doesn’t move them away. It’s still not enough. “You were really upset back there. Is everything alright?”
“It’s nothing.”
Namjoon scoffs lightly, and gives you a knowing look. You feel his dark eyes lingering on your sticky, tear-stained cheeks. “It wasn’t nothing. You don’t have to talk about it but you shouldn’t devalue your feelings.”
“So what happened at work?” You take the chance to talk about him instead. It’s preferable to letting him see the insecure side of you, the one that cries over a bungled blind date, versus the one that he’s seen, the woman who freely insulted him to his face and got away with it. For a moment you’re concerned he won’t take the bait, but he finally sighs.
“I got to interview for a promotion to a different task force.“ His face tightens and he closes his eyes. “It went poorly. The guy interviewing me was disinterested and he was on his phone the whole time. Nothing I said could get more than a grunt out of him. It was so bad. And I know that other agents had an easier time. I didn’t even get a chance.”
“Mm, I’m sorry. That’s so difficult.” You have to fight to reach out and put a hand on his shoulder.
“It is what it is. There’s nothing I can do about it. I’m just so fucking tired of meaningless busy work.” You watch as he leans forward, letting his forehead come to rest on your knee. You can smell the lingering base notes of his cologne wafting up from his neck. “Is this alright? I should have asked first.”
“It’s fine, Namjoon,” you say, letting your hand move to his shoulder. “I appreciate the checking in and the asking, but we’ve already kind of had sex? I’m okay with you touching me if you are.”
He hums. You can feel him relax a little as you rub your fingertips into his shoulder. The vibration of his voice travels easily through his body to your hand. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, and you still don’t have to, but I want you to know I’ll listen if you’ll let me, for what it’s worth.”
You chew on your lip. You know you need to open up. You know that dancing it off has helped only a little. And yet, it’s so hard to let yourself open up to him. You don’t want him to think you’re needy, or clingy, or any other word you’ve been called before. You want him to think you’re effortless and unbothered. But then, out of everything, you’d still rather be thought of as honest and forthcoming.
“Um, well,” you sigh, your fingers nervously picking at your cuticles. “I haven’t dated in a while, so I thought it was time to try again.”
Namjoon looks at you expectantly. His chin rests on your knee, and you can feel his hand mindlessly playing with the cuff of your sweatpants, brushing against the ticklish skin of your ankle. You’re not sure if you’re ready to tell him about how much he’s lingered in your mind.
You take a deep breath. “So a friend set me up on a blind date. And he stood me up. I’m really embarrassed, but I’m even more embarrassed about the fact that I was upset about it.”
“Was that why you were dancing to Cher in Taehyung’s living room?” There’s a smile on his lips. His dimples are fighting to appear, but he suppresses the smile so they’re barely even there. Just enough of a hint to irritate you but not so much so that they ruin your life.
“Yeah. Not my best moment.”
“I don’t know about that. The song’s good and it was kind of cute. You’re a goth girl, so irony’s your thing, right? What’s more ironic than liking nineties pop bangers while being kind of goth?”
“You jerk!” you groan, lightly shoving him. He hardly moves at all. He’s too solid for you to really make your point, but he rolls his head a little, exaggerating his reaction to the shove.
“Ooo I’m so insulted,” Namjoon says as he sits up and straightens. “You really got me with that one.”
“You’re insufferable. I’m trying to be vulnerable and you’re teasing me,” you pout. It’s hard to keep the frown when he starts smiling and leaning into your space.
“I’m not teasing you, I’m just stating facts.”
“I’m not a goth! I just like wearing black and a lot of it all at once!”
“Fine, if you say you’re not goth or emo or whatever then fine, you’re not. But you are cute, and I’d be hard-pressed to have my mind changed about that.”
The hand he was using to play with your sweats is now running fingers along the the knob of your ankle, softly dipping into the curve near the tendon at the back, and then around to the ankle bone again. A shiver runs down your spine. He’s close enough to that you can feel the body heat seeping out of his suit. He must be so warm; you just want to rip it off and watch the cool air raise goosebumps on his skin.
Your eyes can’t settle anywhere on his face. You try to look into his eyes but it’s too much; your eyes dip to his lips, and well, the urge to bite them is too much, so then you look back up at his eyes and start the process anew.
You swallow thickly. “You think I’m cute?”
“Yes,” he says plainly. His eyes are doing it too, you notice. He keeps staring at your mouth. “I think you’re a lot of things.”
“Like what?” you ask.
“I don’t know if you’re ready to hear me say some of them out loud.”
You’re ready to melt down the stairs.
With a trembling hand, you reach forward, taking his tie in your hands. He watches with wide eyes, and you’re glad for it. If he was staring you down as you pulled him toward you, you’d probably loose your nerve. Even so, you yank a little too hard, and he laughs in surprise.
“Slow down, baby, just—”
Before you can hide your face in your hands in embarrassment, he has them in his grasp, pulling you down the steps steps that separate you. Suddenly, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, you’re straddling his thick thighs with your own. Your palms rest on his shoulders, his on your waist. The change in position feels close. Intimate. Natural.
“There,” he murmurs, his eyes flickering down to your mouth, his breath shuddering as it leaves him. “Perfect.”
You move a palm to his chest, and feel his heart beating wildly against his ribs. In the quiet of the stairwell, you can feel how it beats along with your own.
“Perfect,” you whisper back.
And then you gently tug on his tie, and try again.
Kissing Namjoon again is like putting on a garment you forgot you had. It’s clear you liked it because it looks like something you’d like to wear, but it just got pushed to the side or the back of the drawer, and you almost forgot how it felt to wear. When you put it on, for the first time in however long, it fits in all the ways you love. It makes you feel good. He makes you feel good. You don’t want to stop kissing him, ever, in the same way you fret about a favorite garment eventually wearing out. What happens if he grows bored? What happens if you can’t fix the tear?
The advantage to kissing Namjoon is that he’s not a sweater, and he’s not about to get pushed aside in the drawer; not with the way his tongue sinks into your mouth or the way his hands drift down from your waist to grip your hips. He makes you feel incredible. What were you thinking about again?
His legs spread, pushing you into his chest, your own legs spreading in the process. The soft, rolling curves of your body mold into the firm lines of his. His hands palm at your ass, feeling how the flesh fills them, and he uses the leverage to pull you even closer.
He’s half hard already, just from this. You can feel yourself clench as he groans at the feeling your core against his his own. You grind down on him, just a little, just to see what happens. The muscles in Namjoon’s body tense, and you could swear you feel his cock twitch against you. When you do it again, with a little more confidence this time, he whimpers into your mouth. His hands slip under the hem of your hoodie, fingers skating around your waist, trying to hold you close as his own hips start working. It might be a little stilted, because of the limitations of sitting on the stairs, but his desire to be closer to you remains. The grind of his pelvis against yours has you sighing and keening into his kisses quietly. He tongues at your mouth, his fingertips brushing against your heated flesh. It’s fervent, it’s heady, it’s everything.
He nips at your bottom lip as he abruptly pulls away. His breath shakes as he stills beneath you. Instead it turning up the heat any further, he lets it simmer as he rests his forehead against yours. You whine in frustration; it seems hardly fair that you’ve wound each other up, just to stop.
“I need a minute,” he says, his hot breath fanning over your face.
“Okay. We should probably go somewhere else if we want to continue anyway.”
“Mmhm.” He’s so quiet, so suddenly still, that you’re almost concerned you’ve done something wrong. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. Wanna get it right this time.”
“Does your bedroom door have a lock?” you joke. Namjoon wordlessly nods, before pulling back with a sigh and running a hand through his dark hair.
“I want to talk some more too. I—I’ve got a lot of thoughts buzzing around and I want to keep my head clear,” he says. There’s tension underpinning his tone. It’s like he’s hesitating, or trying to hold back.
“Hey.” You cup his face with your hand. His eyes meet yours as your run your thumb over the smooth plane of his cheekbone. Your heart trills in your chest. “I’ve been thinking about you too, you know.”
Namjoon’s full lips part for a moment, as if he’s about to say something, but nothing comes. Slowly, he lets relief surface in his features, letting a slow breath out as he relaxes. He moves his hands again, clasping them behind your back to keep you close. Finally, he asks:
“Is that why you tried going on a blind date?”
“Yeah. I hate to admit it, but yeah. I was hoping that I could just get over the lingering attachment. It felt really stupid to still be hung up on you, even after a few weeks.” You feel the weight beginning to lift from your shoulders as you talk about how you feel. You don’t understand why you thought keeping the matter mum was a good idea; Namjoon wouldn’t judge you for something like that. “Instead, I got to see you. It’s what I really wanted in the end.”
“Have I mentioned yet that I’m really glad that asshole didn’t show?” He leans into your touch and murmurs, “I know it was upsetting for you and I hate that the whole situation made you feel that way, but I’m also a selfish dick. I want you for myself.”
“I’m not sure it counts as selfish if I want the same thing.”
“Noted.” He turns his head and kisses your palm. He moves his jaw to kiss the skin again but this time, his tongue drags along the fine lines etched there. You shiver when he makes eye contact; he looks like he’s ready to rip you apart. This man turns on a dime and you like it far too much for your own good. “We should head down.”
“Lead the way.”
Thank you for reading! Drop me an ask and tell me what you think. Find me in various places at my carrd :)
©miscelunaaa 2022. My work is only found on this blog and under my ao3 pseud. Do not, under any circumstances, copy or repost my work.Thank you.
posted: 6.7.2022
#btshoneyhive#namjoon fic#namjoon x plus-sized female reader#namjoon x reader#namjoon x soft-bodied reader#kim namjoon fic#namjoon x female reader#knj x reader#knj fic#knj x female reader#kim namjoon fanfic#that's all I'm tagging#idk if my stuff shows up in tags but people keep finding it so thanks yall!#your reblogs and comments mean the world!!
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[yeets this into the void because this is not what my brain is supposed to be working on right now]
Teacher AU! where Pete is one of Macau’s teachers that Macau clearly develops a bit of crush on where he’s talking about Pete all the time to Vegas. And Vegas grows a little concerned about said crush because he’s never seen Macau take to a person so quickly and decides this teacher needs to be paid a visit so that Vegas can assess Pete for himself and warn him off if he’s any sort of threat to Macau.
Anyway Vegas shows up after school one day (careful to make sure Macau doesn’t see him) and he slips into the classroom hoping to startle Pete as an intimidation tactic. Except he’s the one surprised when Pete just calmly looks up from his work, takes one sweeping one at him, and bursts into a blindingly bright smile. “Hello, you must be Kuhn Vegas, Macau’s brother.”
Because of course Pete is going to recognize Vegas on sight with the way Macau talks about him in school. Macau is always telling the other students fantastical stories about things his older brother has supposedly done. Or at least Pete had always supposed the stories were fantastical when he heard them, assuming many of them were exaggerated boy’s tales where the more brutal and violent, the cooler things seem.
Except Pete gets one look at Vegas lurking in his classroom and immediately knows that if anything, Macau undersold what his brother was capable of (becauseMacau is smart enough to know what he can and can’t say anyway). It’s obvious Vegas is a dangerous, dangerous man.
But for every tale of brutality he told about him, it’s also obvious Macau loves his older brother and is loved and cared for in return by him (Pete’s not too sure about the father, Macau doesn’t talk about him much—though you know this an AU maybe Gun is dead and Vegas has been raising Macau alone).
It all adds up to a very intriguing individual—and a very attractive one at that. And Pete’s honest enough with himself to realize he is suddenly very interested in learning more about him.
Meanwhile, Vegas is momentarily knocked off his ass by that smile, and covers for his reaction to it by getting suspicious about how Pete knows who he is.
Cue Vegas being all menacing to start off with and Pete just not being cowed in the slightest, doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t back away when Vegas attempts to invade his space, questions all of Vegas’s questions and vague threats frankly.
If Pete’s betraying any nervousness at all, it’s not because he’s afraid of Vegas.
But of course he knows who Vegas is, Macau talks of him often. And Macau is a good kid overall, needs to focus more on his studies though (and Pete knows Vegas agrees with him, Macau sometimes grumbles about his brother not letting him do things until his schoolwork is done).
And Vegas quickly finds himself charmed and intrigued by this man in front of him, who isn’t intimated by him, and clearly cares about his students and is fond of Macau in particular. And Vegas begins to understand why his brother loves this guy so much. And finds himself flirting back (because Pete’s clearly been flirting the whole damn time).
And maybe there’s a moment when the mood shifts entirely. Maybe Pete’s telling an amusing story about Macau that makes Vegas huff out a laugh. Maybe he says something about Macau being a bit of a brat.
And maybe Pete responds with “Well, I was a bit of a brat at his age too.”
And maybe Vegas’s gaze sharpens, like a shark sensing blood in the water. Maybe he closes the distance between them (which hasn’t been very large at all this whole time to start with) with a dangerous smirk and asks, “Was?”
And maybe they end up fucking right then and there on the desk. The same one Pete will have to look at every day and remember.
Anyway, Macau’s a bit pissed at first when he finds out Vegas is fucking his favorite teacher, but he quickly realizes that Vegas is for the first time in his life completely and totally in love and this basically makes Pete his brother now. Macau calls that a win.
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Lemme just yeet this little self-indulgent comfort piece I wrote last night, before I disappear back into the void again xD
Breaking point
Vanderwood x Reader
"You're such a sunshine!"
"You always help others and barely ever seem to be in a bad mood. How do you do that?"
Yes, how did you do it? You were a positive person who liked to help others, no question. But you also had a hard time saying no and the mere thought of potentially leaving someone haning, or worse, disappoint them made you nauseous and anxious. So even on days where you were struggling, you put on this mask of "everything is fine" as to not be a bother for the people around you.
To say it was draining was an understatement. And especially recently you started to feel more and more like you were only a shell of yourself anymore. Your body heavy and even the things you usually enjoyed felt like too much of a chore.
Dragging yourself into your home, you simply dropped your bag next to the door, kicking off your shoes without really caring if they'd end up in the way or not.
"I'm home...", you announced, followed by a heavy, stuttering sigh.
It didn't take long until your boyfriend popped his head into the hallway, eyes narrowing when he took you in. Shoulders slumped, still standing in front of the door looking nearly like a kicked puppy.
Suddenly strong arms wrapped around you and it was enough to make the cracked walls you've kept up all day begin to crumble all at once. Causing tears to stream down your face as you buried it on Vanderwood's chest.
"Do you wanna talk about it?"
You simply shook your head and he didn't push it. If there was one person who understood that it wasn't always easy, or helpful, to immediately talk about things, it was him. And you have probably never been more grateful for it than in that moment.
For a while, you didn't know just how long, you two simply remained standing there. You clinging to his shirt, while he rubbed soothing circles into your back, occasionally dropping kisses to the top of your head. Once the stream of tears began to stop, turning more into quiet sniffles, the brunette picked you up like it was nothing. Only setting you down once you had reached the couch, where you promptly got turned into a blanket burrito.
It never ceased to amaze and amuse you how he turned into a mother hen as soon as you were feeling bad in any kind of way. Making sure you'd stay hydrated, grabbing your favorite snacks, just like turning on your comfort movie, before he joined you on the couch. Vanderwood also always let it up to you to decide on whether you wanted to keep some distance or not, never just assuming. And while there were days where you didn't feel like getting touched, it wasn't one of those. So you wiggled close enough to rest your head on his lap and with the way he continously ran his hands through your hair, you slowly but surely felt your body relax. The weight of the past weeks melting away in the comfortable silence shared between you that only got filled by the movie playing on TV. This was probably exactly what you needed; an evening of doing nothing but relaxing with the love of your life. And the fact that you knew he only dropped his tough act around you? It made your heart flutter every time the thought crossed your mind.
At some point you turned around to be able to look up at him, a somewhat sleepy smile on your lips.
"Vandy? Thank you..."
"You feeling a bit better now?"
"Mhm~"
"Then let's get you to bed. You look tired."
Even though you sat up, instead of trying to get out of your blanket cocoon you wrapped your arms around his neck, lips pressed to his cheek.
"Carry me? Please?"
Vanderwood let out a sigh, though at the same time he still picked you up. He tried to pretend as if he was annoyed, but you could see the way the corners of his lips quirked up.
"Don't think this will become a regular thing. It's an exception today."
"Mhm. You also said that the last time. And the time before that, and before that, and-"
He effectively cut you off with a kiss, though you still ended up giggling into it.
Masterlist 1 2
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utsuro?
brief emeto joke that’s the only cw i think? anyways. this fucking guy…..
- My identity hc for them
iiii….. think his whole “nothing matters because i get whatever i want” had already set in by the time he would’ve really started getting interested in other people? i don’t really have identity hcs for him i don’t think he actually exists. collective hallucination by the entire sdra cast.
also i think the divine luck got him gender affirming healthcare. but anyways.
- Thoughts on their home life/family
i hope his parents explode ! anyways i wonder if utsuro (prior to his no emotions no attachment era) was like damn i’ll find some people to actually love and respect me!! and sure enough found a couple willing to love and dote on him w/o knowing about his divine luck but he got paranoid and dipped out because he felt he was forcing them into it and they actually hated him.
- How i feel about their canonical writing/handling
underutilized sorry. sooo much more could’ve been said could have been done et cetera. the ramifications of the divine luck are underused his coming back in sdra2 was underused etc etc. there’s sooo much that could be said with him and it’s so easy to do it is the smallest fucking reach and linuj is like. this is utsuro he is like kamakura but with divine luck :). and everyone was like omg so true!! and he’s reduced down and isn’t handled with actual depth. like. there’s Reasons for why he is the way he is. aaa!
- The one thing i’d want to make canon about them
system. for utsuro specifically i think he struggles a lot with detachment and has frequent dissociative episodes. he’s not quite prone to third person/out of body episodes but i think he struggles with orienting himself in the world (spatial awareness) and staying aware of his surroundings.
- My number one favorite ship for them
*looks up from where i’m poking utsuro with a stick while in the rain* huh.
- …Now everyone else i ship with them
*goes back to poking at him*
- The thing i will NEVER ship
utsutai. im pretty much chilling with whatever else (above answers were just me conveying that idgaf im neutral whatever happens happens!) but i think reading their interactions as romantic is a disservice to their characters. like if u look at them and go yeah there was romantic love and desire to date here. ?????
- a dynamic/relationship i wish was explored more (in canon, or in fandom)
was trying to think of smthn and i think we should chat about utsuros feelings on mikako more. she tries to get him yeeted in ch5 as we all know and also there’s everything with pre game and it’s just. ??? why do we not address this. alsoooo i’ve yet to see like. a non despair/post game/etc au or fic or anything that portrays utsuros vibe with the voids/cou in a way i enjoy. so. …. maybe i need to read more fic tho
- thoughts on their design (appearance-wise)
cute! sometimes it looks a bit off to me but i think that’s just a matter of hues/undertones. i reaaaally like his color palette in sdra2, it hits right there. i’ll always think the color choices of the uniform were a bit silly but ultimately it looks cute!! in dra it’s just a weird mix of warm hues vs gray undertones (this applies to like.. skin and hair not just clothes) but sdra2 looks very nice!!!
- A music-related thought- a song that reminds me of them, or what their music taste is, etc
AGH. hold it in, and beady eyes on the horizon, both by jukebox the ghost. i don’t want to talk about it tho. i have nothing else to say. im gonna go throw up over beta.
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Faerun!Alisaie vs The Nightsong
And, eventually, the Shadowfell
Balthazar: Ah, great, you opened the way! General Thorm will be greatly pleased. Now let's get you back to the General--
Aylin: GET FUCKED.
Alisaie: Um ... how about 'no'? We only more or less went along with your bullshit because we weren't in the mood to kick your ass at the time. If she's what causing Ketherick Thorm's immortality--
Aylin: NOT BY CHOICE; THEY'RE ASSHOLES.
Alisaie: Yeah, we figured that because shadow curse and captured tieflings and a whole lot of other shit I've had to clean up for the last week or so, but thanks for the confirmation. Anyway, if she's causing Thorm's immortality? She's not going anywhere with you.
Balthazar: I told you that you'd regret raising a weapon to me-- *urk?*
Alisaie: *has already stabbed him while he wasn't looking* I dosed my coffee with an Elixir of Vigilance this morning, asshole!
Balthazar: I ... will... *raises hands to cast*
Wyll: Ah-ah-ah; I don't think so. *Counterspell*
Balthazar: I ... have ... Haste ... so... *raises hands to cast*
Gale: I think not. *Counterspell*
Balthazar: ...the fuck?
Alisaie: ELFSONG TAVERN SAYS HELLO, YOU RANCID PILE OF LUNCHMEAT! *finishes him off immediately*
Gale: ...It would have been so convenient if his undead soldiers had gone down with him, you know...
Alisaie: *basically an adamantine Cuisinart*
Wyll: But we get to watch this... Oop. We have casters. *Eldritch Blast*
Skeleton Caster: *is yeeted into the void*
Stabnation: *ensues, and is way easier with the main threat eliminated after only one round*
Aylin: Huh. I'm next, I suppose, Wannabe Justiciar?
Shadowheart: My Lady says--
Aylin: Your 'Lady' speaks bullshit, and sees you as a disposable tool. Also, there's a lot you don't remember, and you don't need her to get it back. Because she wouldn't quite give the truth to you anyway.
Shadowheart: ...wut...
Alisaie: Shadowheart ... Shar doesn't want you to have anything but her. You saw what happened with Vlaakith.
Shadowheart: Are you saying I'm like Lae'zel?!?
Gale: Erm. Vlaakith not the only one turning her ... let's be kind and say 'worshippers' into suicide bombers. Or literally suicide bombs, but--
Wyll: *elbows Gale* Shutupthisisnotaboutyou!
Gale: ...Shall I conjure up some popcorn?
Wyll: ......You can do that?
Alisaie: *sigh* Ignore those two. I'm saying that the gods work in their own interests, and ... I didn't want to lose you by forcing you not to do what Shar wants, but ... I don't want to lose you to Shar either. I think you deserve better.
Shadowheart: Than a god?
Alisaie: Gods don't make good partners.
Gale: *literally conjuring popcorn to share with Wyll* Don't mind me! I'll just be over here! Being a living example of the point the Swordswoman of Song is making!
Wyll: 'Swordswoman of Song'?
Gale: It's got the same syllables as Blade of the Frontiers, and fits fairly well. Did you have something better?
Wyll: The Battledancer.
Gale: ...Oooh. That's good.
Alisaie: Just ... ignore Statler and Waldorf over there. She stripped your memory, Shadowheart. What if the things she's made you forget ... are the things that prove she's not a one to give your entire life to? I want you to have a life, Shadowheart. You deserve that.
Shadowheart: There's ... less advocating for yourself here than I expected. Or maybe hoped for.
Alisaie: Hey. Look. I said I was going at your pace; I meant it. If you love me, like me as a friend, or never want to see me again, I still wish you an actual life, not an empty time in service of death.
Shadowheart: ............... *yeets spear into the void*
Aylin: Good for you. Don't worry; you won't lose any of your powers. Selune's got your back. Now, I'll tell you what I know after we kick Thorm's ass. *becomes Angelic Winged-Glory Paladin; hauls ass away*
Shadowheart: So ... okay ... I've been literally excommunicated. By the actual god herself. But ... look, I've devoted everything to Lady Shar and you've been right there, and from the beginning of all this you've been more there for me than my faith has. I didn't want to commit to anything because I already had my fanaticism thing going on and I didn't want to distract from that... But you said you wanted me to have a life. Could ... it maybe be with you?
Alisaie: I promised, didn't I? At your pace. I won't say I've been waiting. I will say that I've been at your side, and I will be for as long as you let me be, and my hand's right here, whenever you want to take it. So yeah, I think it could.
Gale and Wyll: *burst into applause, scattering popcorn all over the Shadowfell*
Wyll: Fucking finally!
Gale: Now kiss!
Alisaie: OUT OF THE SHADOWFELL AND INTO THE KICKING OF THORM-ASS BEFORE I YEET YOUR ASSES INTO THE VOID!
Shadowheart: Not two minutes ago I thought I'd never smile again and now I'm laughing, a bit. You are full of surprises.
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I'm so sorry but every time someone talks about time travel Shisui I can't help but wonder how he would react in front of young Danzō, especially since most of the time travel ideas with Shisui happen right after he lost an eye
Hey Anon! 👋
No need to apologize, even reflexively~
Tbh it can go one of a few ways, depending on where you're placing Shisui on the sliding scales of "trauma", "adrenaline", "optimism", and "pragmatism"
Let's have a closer look 👀
So if Shisui is extremely traumatised, he will freak the FUCK out at the whisper of Danzo regardless of age, something that - if he's high on the adrenaline scale and therefore it's very close after the Eye Incident - then he will absolutely flee, try to kill Danzo, or just go buckwild crazy and probably end up fighting Tobirama/Danzo/Hiruzen/Minato etc depending on when exactly he's been dumped back to.
If, say, Shisui is less traumatized (either because it's been a while since the Eye Incident or he's very slowly and intentionally controlled interactions with Danzo etc) then he won't kill him, he'll choke down the discomfort and try to convince himself that the old timeline was Null and Void upon his arrival in the past. Danzo lives and Shisui possibly manages to live in some kind of locality with him (to say nothing of how Danzo and others might pick up on and interpret Shisui's difficulties)
If the adrenaline is high, regardless of anything else, Shisui will Fight or Flight. Meaning, he's gonna try and kill Danzo, he's gonna try and catch Danzo with Kotoamatsukami before Danzo can do anything to him first, or he's gonna fucking bolt.
If Shisui is really optimistic, he'll believe that Danzo is a product of his past and how he's internalised lessons and values, that he can change and that Shisui can teach/influence him so that the old future never happens. Shisui might actually force himself to be that direct hand of change in Danzo's life, because we all know Shisui's low-key a control freak (In my fics mainly but, I mean... that boy has his hand in everything and with the way he throws his eyes and independence around? C'mon) so Shisui would HAVE to intervene and keep intervening to ensure change was unfolding as he wants it to.
If Shisui is really pragmatic AND optimistic, he will see that killing Danzo will drastically fuck with the timeline and, thereby, Shisui's usable knowledge of the future. There are also ramifications for Danzo's death, regarding Tobirama and Hiruzen and Konohan's perceived stability, for ROOT etc. Result: Danzo is un-maimed.
If Shisui is really pragmatic AND traumatized... He will fucking nope Danzo out of existence, doesn't matter if he's a toddler. Just yeet that bitch into the void. If Danzo is older, and the pragmatism mentioned above ^^ comes through stronger, then Shisui will absolutely smack him with Kotoamatsukami with no regret and just ride the ramifications like butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.
What you're really weighing up here is "Shisui is a sweetheart who deeply believes in wiping the slate clean and building a better world" versus "Shisui can stone cold rewrite even the reality of his nearest and dearest without their knowing or consent, he has killed many times more people than years he's been alive, and he is scarred by his last attempts to trust Danzo and ensure peace"
My version of writing Shisui? He's capable of all of this, absolutely....
Great ask, Anon! ✨
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The Scene™ does get mentioned again, by Klaus himself. When Luther picks him up by the neck in the Void, Klaus says "Again?!" and Luther replies "Yes, again" and then yeets him into the bouncing castle heaven. Klaus brushes it off as always, and then lets Luther guilt-trip him into resurrecting himself. So not only does Luther remember what he did to Klaus in S1, he's not the slightest bit sorry. On the contrary. He's perfectly ready to beat Klaus into submission even before he learns that there is no pain in the Void, and he knows exactly what to do to manipulate Klaus (watching their conversation in the bouncy house always gives me major red flags, just look at Luther's body language in particular). While the S1 scene definitely needs to be talked about more I find the Void scene ten times worse. I know everyone loves Himbo Luther now but he still has a ways to go imo.
OH RIGHT. my bad, i forgot about the bouncy house scene. you're right. and i agree with everything you just said - this time, it's explained with a 'klaus can't feel pain in the void so it's fine and luther doesn't have to work on his anger issues uwu' because yeah. always blame the victim kids! this makes me so MAD honestly.
they changed luther a lot, trying to make him just a 'kind big guy' all of a sudden which he's not. he's not kind. to klaus, at least. they interacted like 35 seconds from s1 to s3 and all of that time was luther yelling at him, throwing and chocking him and dragging him around. at the same time he SOMEHOW befriended diego because diego can kick his ass. he's now also viktor's bestie because he learned a lesson in s1.
and klaus never fights back. (i can rant for hours how much i HATE this, and the fact that klaus is the strongest yet the weaponless one, and that the show tone rarely treats him seriously, etc, etc)
yeah yeah i know i say this only because im (mostly) a klaus-centric blog, but there's certainly a problem with luther attacking the weakest ones. tf he wanted from five in 3x10? w h a t was he gonna do? punch a tiny dude in a 13yo kid's body?
#tua negativity#pls if you want me to tag my 'luther criticism' specifically lmk bc im not gonna stop i think#tua criticism
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12 and 24 for the writer ask game?
12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules
I shall protect my WIPs and not try to rules lawyer this genie:
I want the ability to automatically find the right song for whatever I'm writing. I have lost focus so many times because the music was not vibing right and then when I finally got it, I had to spend hours listening to it to get back in the mood. Auto-matching magic music player, pls.
I want the ability to kill with my mind any asshole that comes into a fic and goes "Um, actually, in CANON". Or if I'm not allowed to kill, can they just lose internet access? Forever? Yeet them into a void from which they'll never escape.
I want my old writing juju back. :C I used to be able to type out 10K a day without breaking a sweat but life keeps getting in the way now.
24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?
I don't tend to do prep work for fic unless I'm collaborating in some capacity with someone else and therefore need to adapt my goddamn nonsense to another person's needs without putting them through hell. I tend to focus on specific scenes or moments and then just sort of start writing towards them, gleefully making it up as I go along. I've got practice at leaving myself narrative hooks that depending on mood, reception, inspiration and just general pacing, I can go back and lasso into becoming foreshadowing touches instead of just random bits of padding to make the story more cohesive. It's a skill that's pretty difficult to explain, but it's vital to be able to write long form chaptered fic without zero prep or side work, and not have your readers end up a mob with pitchforks because you accidentally lost the plot somewhere in the meandering.
I know how to do the outline and pacing and editing and stuff, but it takes a lot of work and I tend to not bother unless someone's gonna read it.
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I don't like canon Vauthry as a person - like he's tragic but he still serverly hurt people and cultist malicious messiah's are always on my yeet to the void list because there's no room for reason. (Everything about Forgiven Innocence is gross and I hate Vauthry transformed more than normal Vauthry) Vauthry original design also does body horror- like we have those hints he's not entirely human off the back. His height, the extra face on his breast, the way he seems more swollen than actually fat expecially compared to other heavy models like the Dulia or Gilgamesh. Like he dwarfs even the sineaters that's not normal. That said you make him kinda cute especially in your more human designs for him he looks cuddly. Your story for him is compelling too if there was more time in the game I may have liked him more. Also Vauthry looks less disgusting than innocence any day of the fucking week I hate that transformation so much everyone who simps for it is bad
There could have been more time in the writing of the Eulmore arc, if the writers had been more clever and hadn't used lazy tropes to phone it in. But Yoshida bodyshamed a cosplayer for their weight live onstage at Fanfest 2014, so while I was disappointed, I sure wasn't surprised. Square in general loves shitting on fat characters.
So here we are, with inexplicably overpowered grandpa (who died in a duty), the totally plot twist Lightwarden Of Kholusia, and the "perverted paradise" that actually made the 1% foot the tab for their employees, before being replaced by the much more benevolent capitalism. (◔_◔)
By all means Nonnie, you do you, but you should consider that Vauthry was the original victim of the "cult", as you put it. He had no chance of free will since before he was born. Tempering/Light corruption doesn't work like that, and Tempering/Light corruption has never made an exception for anyone else, including the Warrior Of Light, who had Hydaelyn's Blessing protecting them. Vauthry was bound to the instincts and will of a Lightwarden his entire life. Or, as Emet-Selch, the actual founder of the Eulmore "cult", stated:
"Those in your company will likewise turn to sin eaters, and in time you will succumb to your base instincts and hunt innocents to feast on their sweet, sweet aether."
You think that whole situation was bad for your WoL? A lot of players go on in great length how horrifying it was for theirs. Loads of High Drama and Existential Dread. How do you suppose it was for a child alone, surrounded by people who were only using him for their own ends?
The Ascians were there to guide their creation to do their bidding the whole way, it seems. It would only make sense, why would Emet-Selch corrupt a baby for such a crucial role, then leave him to do whatever on his own?
Then you had his father, the Former Mayor, who obviously made up a fanciful story of why his son was born as he was, framing all who oppose him as villains who seek to destroy the peace he brought between man and sin eater. That unfortunately included the Scions and their allies, although even Emet-Selch stated he was surprised Vauthry sent the Eulmoran Army after us. That does imply it wasn’t common for Vauthry to resort to violent behavior in the past, if he resorted to it at all. The Eulmorans themselves definitely weren’t afraid of him ‘til the very end.
You already know everything else I have to say on that subject, right? ( ᐛ )b
But yeah. We're talking being indoctrinated into this from birth. For those who dismiss that, I'd love to hear how they expected a child to know what was real and what was not at that point, carefully isolated from any life outside his false destiny. (Seriously. If any of you who subscribe to this mindset are reading this, DM me. Anon is obviously on. I really do want to see where the train of thought is coming from.)
For the “well Vauthry was a spoiled rich kid” crowd, I don’t want to hear it--there are a lot of “rich kids” in this game that you love. Alphinaud, Alisaie, Hildibrand, Nanamo, the noble kids of Ishgard, etc. Think harder than that. Vauthry had to be convinced he was doing good for the world. He had all the power in the world to not care. Yet he remained mayor of one settlement, when he could’ve been in control of all of Norvrandt if he had even a fraction of Emet-Selch’s tin pot dictator ambitions.
He didn’t. He hoped to "vindicate his existence" as the "half sin eater" the Ascians made him, as G’raha later said. But he died in bewildered sorrow because he "kept the people safe!" from the “villains”, never understanding everything he was taught was a cruel lie.
He did terrible things in the time we saw him, but blaming him for Light corruption he never chose and a lifetime of brainwashing feels like blaming Thancred for the fate of the Waking Sands. Would any of it have happened were it not for Emet-Selch’s direct actions? No.
Also, while I appreciate the compliments, Nonnie, why is "cuddly" and other similar terms always and only ever used for fat characters, smh. The fanbase tries to make Dulia everyone's maiden aunt as it is.
༼ﾉ ᐕ ༽ﾉ︵┻━┻
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Found Lost Fic, More Than Flesh!
(A bit long, at least to me, so read if u wish, otherwise look for the TLDR at the bottom)
Shaking and excited for a weird reason, but like
Going through the old files on an old USB of mine, I got a ton of saved fics from AO3 and FF.net.
Because, ya know, u never know when the creator/author is going to up and delete their wonderful work(s).
I had a big one that I managed to download some time before the author deleted it and a brief sequel that never got finished, back around mid-2016. It was either they got bullied out of the fandom or got bullied for what they were writing, I believe, and at some point afterward, possibly 4-5 months later, the PDF
somehow
corrupted.
(The first one, because the second was on-going and I only downloaded complete works back then)
Cue me being devastated because I doubt anyone would have had a copy of it since the deletion came out of nowhere. This was..maybe 5 or 6 years ago? The sequel had only a few chapters to it following the first before both got yeeted into the darkness, but I have no idea on the time gap between the two. Could've been some months down the road before the deletion.
And yet, an hour ago as I was browsing my USB storage, I decided to try and open it. I know when u have corrupted files u get rid of them, but I had kept it as a memorable keepsake for how great of a fic it was back in the day. I dunno why I wanted to open it, I just felt I needed to. Maybe to see if more of it corrupted, was completely illegible, etc.
And the fucking thing didn't give me an error! It actually opened and I could go down the entire PDF to the end, with all the words showing! No glitchy bars for about 80% of it!
Sorry for this sort of thing coming out of the void, but I'm excited and this immediately brightened me up. If anyone is still looking for a copy of the PDF, I'm willing to provide!
TLDR: A downloaded PDF fic file from an AO3 author in 2016 I thought was completely corrupted, unrecoverable, and lost to the sands of time ended up opening and being uncorrupted years later.
#tftbl#rhack#ao3#rhack tftbl#y'all have no idea how happy I am#I'm glad I kept it for all these years#a little disappointed I never got the unfinished sequel#but who knows maybe someone else does
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As the phone was Yeeted it glows and flys back hitting kris in the head. It flops back into Frisk’s hand and a few numbers appear on it. After that it Shows “Frisk’s Phone” being called……. Connection…. A familiar voice is heard from it….
Data!Frisk: Hello?… uh who is this?
(The following conversation)
Frisk! Oh my god- Hey!! It's us!!
...
..Big sissy?! Is that you?!
Yes!! Yes it's us! We-
We have a phone here with us!! We can contact you!
..Is that Chara? Wh- I can hear you!! Oh my gosh; hold on!
...
Here, here, hold it!! Quick!
Hello? Can- can you hear me?
Yes!! Yes, oh god- Chara!! Buddy, it's me!!
..No way....
Yes way!! We have a phone and your phone number!! We can message and text and everything!!
That's.. amazing!! Holy sh- how did you get this number?? And a phone?? What- how did you get these??
It appeared out of the blue! We're not sure how it came either, but it gave us your phone number and a way to communicate!
Throughout the void and across the dimensions?? What kind of phone is that?
*The kind that smacks people in the head with no remorse.
Kris!! It's nice to hear you!
You sound a little more emo than usual.
Uhm... let's say this whole process of communication wasn't the smoothest.. We had troubles trying to get this phone to work.
*It doesn't help the fact that Frisk nor Chara knew how a phone operated, and this one in particular decided to waste everybody's time.
Basically.. Kris is salty that they got wacked in the head by a phone.
HAHAH-
Pfftt- Kris, you're okay though, right?
They're fine, just a bit of a sourhead right now.
Who's a sourhead?
Data!! Take the phone; guess who's on call right now!!
You'll never guess.
...
Hello?
Hey Data!! Guess who's back!!
Oh- Frisk? If you're calling... Chara, Kris, are you there too?
Hello from the void, sir!
*Yes.
But.. how? I thought there wasn't any way to contact over dimensions...
Apparently they have a phone over there that can contact us!
And somebody gave them our phone number while they were at it.
I wonder who..? Either way, it's great to hear from the three of you.
Likewise!
So much happened since we've left!! Chara's revived now, she can't walk yet, but-
What?!
*!!
Really?! That's.. great!- oh my god I'm lost for words- Dude, I'm so happy for you!!
Frisk insisted to do it immediately. She wanted to waste no more time reviving me.
I.. wanted Chara to finally be able to talk to her family again. It's been so long for her.. I didn't want to wait any longer for that to happen.
Frisk...
She finally did! Miss Toriel and Mr Asgore were so happy to see her, and now we can play video games together!!
Wow.. things really are looking up for you, Frisk. I'm really glad everything went so smoothly!
And really fast too. It's only been like 10 minutes and you did all that?
..What do you mean? It's been a week since we've left.
What? A week?
How..?
Remember that time travels differently in the void; when we returned, we've only left for a few minutes, according to others.
So... you're saying that all this time we were trying to get a phone to work, you've doing all that??
Yeah, basically.
...
Wow.. uh.. okay then.
Hey, can this call be switched to video? I really wanna see you!
Oh, sure! Uh... uhm...
*This button here, then this button.
Ohh okay gotcha...
...
Proceeds to call for a bit.
previous
@ask-dcf
#askkfc#undertale chara#deltarune kris#undertale frisk#pineapplearts#deltarune#undertale#asks#askdcf#aaaaaaa this one took a while#I didnt draw the whole darn thing that'd take too long#besides half of that convo was audio so there's not much to draw ^^;
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How do you deal with writer's block?
Hello, your ask is much appreciated!
Typically and personally, when my other options are exhausted and my eyes wander over an empty page or Google Doc, my voice to crack in lamentation and sheer disappointment in oneself, and, oh dear, the aggressive pen clicks—and here I am being well ahead of the question. When one finally recovers from the self-criticisms and the ideals of what your hands could've made for your priceless children in your stories and yet you wasted it...
Be made aware, my dear Sir/Madame/etc., there is still hope! Attempt to recollect yourself (only needed if you have a crisis as I do, but this can also be for fun), brew coffee or tea, consume your favorite beverage without a single care. Go online, read or listen to songs that remind you of your WIP, stories, characters, concepts and everything else; this also can be applied to other works such as poetry, books, social media posts, even art, memes and advertisements and more. Pick up on their language, see what they tell you, and you might be inspired to write about it. Copy some key words you'd like to use in your writing, or sentences or phrases that resonate with you or characters or a general story and save it for when you finish your trek. You now have your drink and you have a new word bank to begin with.
If the above is ineffective, try limiting all distractions and stare into the void as you would on the bus from school. Then, literally just mentally start scripting what you want, or let it all come to you. This may or may not help depending on your level of imagination, level of attention span or otherwise, still worth a shot however! During this, ask yourself what words can be used to describe those actions your characters are doing, what the scene smells, looks, feels and sounds like, think of all the cool words, write them as soon as they come to you. It can be as simple, deep or poetic as you'd like, don't hold back what you'd say about it. Write everything as it comes to you, do not worry about quality nor plot relevance—like how you'd record your dreams on paper when you wake, they never require themselves to make much sense. Making sense is for later in the process when you take what you wrote in order to make it fit a plot. Brain go brr now, edit later.
You can also have plenty of fun with friends asking questions about your characters or your WIPs, this can occur during questionnaires or while you rant about things, and sometimes this is found in strange formats. For example, me and a friend played DnD to describe a character's day with dice.(@imbadatnicknames if you're curious, they make neat as heck characters). One could be mad libs, just becasue. One I do more than I'd like to admit is "secret cosplay", where I "play" as a character for a while to really get a sense or who they are and how they'd genuinely behave, and you can also see them and yourself develop from this over time. I'll be in my room (my poor, poor parents), exclaiming, pretending to be a tiny arsonist who's husband can barely manage her, or a heavily clumsy lawyer-knight in a secret relationship with a beautiful unisex-dressing prince with their own issues. Really get into it, I mean REALLY into it, like a theatre kid gone crack feral. Kinda reinforces the previous point a bit: let the brain go brr without judgement or hinderance.
If all that still cannot suffice, it seems counterproductive, everyone tells you, but, just write. ANYTHING. Like "haha yeet" on a google doc, just write something, literally anything. Something is better than nothing. And slowly you could possibly fool your brain into working around a scrunkly disaster of random crap into forming something like dialogue, maybe a funky 'lil monologue to use in that feral theatre kid method.
🤍 And, out of ideas... For now. I'm aware this is unorganized, I haven't had an ask in so long and I got way to up to it. I tried, and again, your ask is seriously, unconditionally taken into account and loved. Thank you. I love the writeblr community as well, you're all deserving of being published. 🤍
TL/DR: There are many different ways to deal with writer's block, including but not limited to: reading other works, staring into the void and letting your imagination yeet into oblivion and writing what you see in your head, literally pretending to be a character, DnD, typing gibberish to reboot your brain.
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